In Your Eyes: Part OneThe Veil
by Joyce LaKee
Summary: War and Reconstruction changed the lives of Atlanta's prominent families forever. A young drifter enters, observes, and is swept up into their dramas, hatreds and loves...Review!
1. Chapter 1

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Summer arrived, and none too soon, for the winter had been unusually cold and dreary, with a seemingly endless stretch of cloudy gray days. Spring had not been the usual cheerful harbinger of life renewing itself, either, for it had been too many days of dismal rain. But summer arrived, warm and sunny, being everything a summer should be. Summer, with its promise of long rambles and games for the children, outdoor frolics for the young people, picnics and sociables for the staid married-with-families, and best of all for the old people, blessed relief from the pains of arthritis and rheumatism.

Dr. Meade moved more slowly these days, and he was just starting to admit it to himself. Somehow his medical practice no longer brought him the satisfaction it once did. He was considered a pillar of the community, and once he felt great pride in that knowledge, but he found that it mattered less and less as time went on. He and his wife lived together in harmony, but sometimes he wondered if she was truly happy. He was assured of her love and devotion, and he repaid her with love and devotion of his own, and he knew himself to be truly blessed in spite of everything. But more and more frequently he was feeling a sense of incompleteness, and he suspected she did too, even though she was not a woman who complained about anything.

And, after all, Dr. Meade was no longer a young man. The War Between the States had been lost almost 20 years before. Both his sons had died for the Cause, and while he had been profoundly grief stricken, he maintained that their deaths had not been in vain, and he was proud that they died as heroes.

The doctor was now facing in his own person the trials he had watched his elderly patients endure since the earliest days of his medical practice--when he himself had been young. Some of them had real physical ailments, which he treated with medicines and poultices. Others had sufferings that were expressed in the form of complaining and crankiness, a sort of spiritual distress which was beyond his ability to cure, and whose only treatment consisted of compassion. Among this latter group were included the patients who begged for laudanum or gave themselves "medicinal" sherry to treat the ache in their souls. Dr. Meade never chose to follow their example, but he deeply understood what drove them to such measures.

It was a late afternoon in summer; the doctor was gathering his things to close his office for the day when the door creaked open and a young woman with two small children entered.

"Dr. Meade? Please, my baby girl's sick."

The doctor immediately took the baby from the woman's arms and began to examine the little one and determine a diagnosis. When he glanced at the woman and the little boy clinging to her skirts, he knew he would not charge her full price. She reminded him of the refugees that had poured into Atlanta in the early days after the war. But she was too young to remember that.

"What's your name, young lady?" He asked as he filled out a prescription.

"Marybeth Dandridge, sir," she replied.

"And the baby?"

"Christina."

Dr. Meade handed the prescription to her, and went to his cabinet to find the medications. Marybeth looked at the paper, forehead wrinkled into a frown. She had no idea what a doctor visit would cost, but she was sure it would not come cheap. She still had some of the money Esther had given her, but it wouldn't last forever. Well, she wasn't about to look like a charity case, either. Whatever it cost, she would pay it, by hook or by crook.

Dr. Meade looked over the contents of his medicine cabinet, thinking. The lady looked very young, not even 20. He wondered where her husband was, for he had glanced surreptitiously at her hand for a ring and she was evidently a "Mrs." From her accent he guessed she came from the country. Either poor white or Cracker. Her dress was gray and plain, in good repair, but a little sooty, as if they had just come into town on the train. He told her the fee for the visit, and thought she turned a little pale before she opened her satchel and fished around in it, coming up with the required amount.

"You new in town, young lady?"

Marybeth nodded. "Yes, sir, I'm here looking for work."

"Where do you live?"

The young woman blushed. "I was planning to find a boarding house when we arrived in town, but Christina started getting feverish on the train." She looked at the doctor, who looked back at her with pity, and something prideful flashed in her eyes. She straightened her spine and said defensively, "That's where I'm going right now, to find a place to stay. I have enough money. We aren't going to starve." However, she faltered under his knowing gaze, and to cover her confusion, she bustled about, gathering her satchel and her children preparatory to leaving.

Dr. Meade stroked his goatee and thought. She looked so young and so scared, with the sick baby and the toddler. He couldn't put a woman with a sick baby out on the street, to the mercy of the city. He knew what he was going to do. He just hoped Mrs. Meade wouldn't mind too much.

PLEASE REVIEW, I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!!


	2. hydrangea2

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

"You're obviously not from around here, Mrs. Dandridge," Mrs. Meade said as she passed the mashed potatoes to Marybeth.

"The mountains." Marybeth replied, eyes on the serving dish as she spooned out food to little Edward. She decided to get her explanation out at once. "Joe--my late husband--and I, we had a little farm. Not much, mind you, a few acres. It--burned down and we," she pointed to herself and her son, "were left on our own. Joe and I didn't really have family except for each other, you see..."

"You've been traveling with two babies ever since?"

"No, Christina wasn't born yet. We stayed with friends, but her father died last month and she broke up housekeeping. I decided to move us here."

Dr. Meade had brought Marybeth home with him and seated her in the parlor while he pleaded her case with Mrs. Meade back in the kitchen.

"She has nowhere to go, Mrs. Meade. She's new in town. I felt that the least we could do was to give her and the children a good meal and they could sleep in the spare room tonight." Their house had been built several years after the War. In the first few years, they could not bear the thought of rebuilding, nor did they have the money. But as their fortunes improved, they were able to rebuild. Not anything like the enormous house they had owned when the boys were still alive, but something very modest that would be large enough for the two of them, their housekeeper Betsy, and a guest or two.

Mrs. Meade had agreed without any argument. Just like her husband, she could not bear to turn out a sick baby. She would have thought that the ghosts of her dead sons would haunt her if she did. And that was how Dr. and Mrs. Meade wound up inviting the Dandridges to eat supper with them that night.

For her part, Marybeth kept her background explanation simple. It was the easiest way, really, and better not to give too many details that could trap her later...

"May I be excused to check on Christina?" Marybeth asked, wanting to change the subject. She was given leave, and she tiptoed into the parlor, where the baby was sleeping on a little bedroll of folded blankets. Christina's head was damp with sweat, but she was breathing easily. Marybeth tiptoed back into the dining room and slipped into her chair beside Edward.

"Mrs. Meade," Marybeth asked, "I'm going to impose on you for a favor. I need to find work as soon as possible, and I prefer to hire out as a maid. I need to have a situation where I can keep my children nearby. So, if you know of anybody who's looking for a hired girl?"

"Tomorrow, Mrs. Dandridge, we'll begin asking around."

When dinner was over, Marybeth stood up, started clearing the table and offered to help their housekeeper, Betsy, in the kitchen. But Betsy took the plates from Marybeth's hands and politely refused her offer of help.

"Mrs. Meade? How can I be of assistance to you before I put my babies to bed?"

"I don't need anything, Mrs. Dandridge, thank you."

Marybeth drooped a little, and smiled apologetically. "Then, is it okay if I retire? It's been a long day."

The Meades dismissed her, and Marybeth gathered her children and took them to the spare room. She gave Christina another dose of the medicine the way Dr. Meade instructed her, then she tucked them into the double bed, changed into her nightdress and lay down next to Christina and began to nurse her. But despite being fatigued, she found that she could not calm her racing thoughts.

She did it. She passed muster with the Meades. They showed every sign of believing her story about a husband named Joe and a farm and a fire. Marybeth rubbed the gold band on her left ring finger in the dark and sighed. The fact was that Marybeth had never had a husband named Joe, or any husband at all. She was 17, with two children by two different fathers, no home and no way to make money. The fact was, Marybeth was desperate. "Dandridge" wasn't even her last name. She hadn't had any contact with her family in three years and she was living hand to mouth. It had only been through the charity of strangers that she and the babies hadn't died in childbirth. Her eyes stung, but she _would_ not cry--a hard won lesson that she learned from the streets. Here she was now, with Christina sick and herself without a job and the money about to run out. Something had to come along and fast. She had to hurry and find work. She sent up a prayer that she hoped would reach its destination and eventually dropped into a fitful sleep.


	3. hydrangea3

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

The next morning, Christina's fever had broken, to Marybeth's profound relief, although the baby remained cranky and irritable. After breakfast, Marybeth helped Mrs. Meade and Betsy wash the dishes and sweep up. When the house was in order, Marybeth went up to the spare room to get herself and her children ready to leave. When she came back downstairs, satchel over her elbow, Christina in one arm and Edward by the hand, she went into the parlor to say goodbye to Mrs. Meade.

Mrs. Meade looked at her in some bewilderment.

"Where do you think you're going, Mrs. Dandridge?"

"To find a job and a boardinghouse," Marybeth replied.

"Mrs. Dandridge, have you lost your mind? That baby is still sick! You can't take her out around people yet. And how do you suppose you'll find a job dragging two children in tow? Get back upstairs and unpack this minute."

"But Mrs. Meade, I have to find a job, and I don't want to impose on you any more than I already have."

"Go upstairs and unpack and I don't want to hear another word out of you about this. I make my social calls today, and I'll ask around for you. You go take care of that baby, do you understand?"

Marybeth smiled weakly and whispered, "Thank you," as she moved towards the stairs, leaving an astonished Mrs. Meade to shake her head.

"No sense. No sense at all," Mrs. Meade muttered.

And so the day went. Mrs. Meade made her round of calls and inquired among her friends for a job for Marybeth. Marybeth stayed at the Meades', caring for Christina and Edward and helping Betsy as much as she would allow her. By the end of the day, Mrs. Meade had extracted assurances from her friends that they would let her know the moment a promising situation appeared. Marybeth was grateful for Mrs. Meade's effort, but unhappy by her continued lack of employment, and was afraid of becoming a burden to them, but she didn't have too many choices, and Mrs. Meade insisted on the Dandridges staying at their house another night.

A few more days passed in this fashion. Mrs. Meade inquired among her friends and acquaintances; she had an enormous social circle, and she wanted to help poor Mrs. Dandridge find a job. To her dismay, however, she was coming up empty in every corner. She had one iron left in the fire, and it was a long shot.

Marybeth was pleased with Christina's continued recovery, and she was grateful for the charitable kindness of the Meades, but her situation, as an unpaying and essentially homeless houseguest to two strangers, was a source of anxiety for her. As much as she tried to help, Betsy didn't want her in the kitchen, and Marybeth found herself with more time on her hands than she'd had the luxury for in three years.

She took Edward out back to play when Christina slept. When they were both awake, she played with them in the house, because she wanted to keep the baby away from drafts. When they were both asleep, she rummaged through the Meades' collection of books.

She had left school when she became pregnant with Edward, but she read anything that was available in the homes she found herself in as she crossed the country. The first day she was at the Meades', she had found a copy of _The Prince and the Pauper_ and had begged permission to read it. Permission had been granted.

She was sitting in the parlor one afternoon, dividing her attention between the book and her two playing babies when she heard a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it, Betsy," Marybeth called back to the kitchen as she hurried out of the parlor. She opened the front door to see a middle aged black man in coachman's livery supporting the arm of an elderly white lady. Little ringlets surrounded the lady's face and she stood wobbling on tiny little feet in tight shoes. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Marybeth and she put a hand over her heart.

"Oh dear--oh dear--I-wanted to see Mrs. Meade," the old lady stammered, bewildered.

"Certainly, won't you come in?"

"But--but--you're not Mrs. Meade!"

Marybeth glanced at the coachman, who nodded and made a move as if to propel the old lady forward.

"I'm Mrs. Dandridge. If you'll walk this way, I'll fetch Mrs. Meade for you." Marybeth took the old lady's arm firmly and dismissed the coachman. Being assisted by a stranger seemed to be an ordeal for the older woman, because she clutched Marybeth with a death grip as if she expected to be dropped on the floor. Marybeth allowed the old lady to set the pace, and they made their way slowly down the hall.

"You must be Mrs. Meade's house guest?"

"My name's Mrs. Dandridge, yes," Marybeth repeated. She wondered if old lady were senile. "Watch your step," she added, tightening her hold as they stepped unsurely over the threshold to the parlor. However, she was able to escort the guest to one of the comfortable chairs without further incidents.

When she was safely seated, she spoke. "I'm Miss Hamilton."

"Pleased to meet you. One moment please, while I get Mrs. Meade."

Mrs. Meade was brought to the parlor. "Good afternoon, Miss Pittypat," she said as she sat down.

Without another word, and stifling a grin at the funny name, Marybeth picked up Christina and herded Edward out the door before her and headed towards the kitchen for refreshments to take back. Betsy was up to her elbows in preparations for supper, and although she wouldn't admit it, she was glad that Marybeth was available to bring tea to the ladies.

Marybeth left the children with Betsy and brought the tea tray to the parlor.

"I'm really, terribly sorry, Mrs. Meade," the lady called 'Pittypat' was saying.

Mrs. Meade sighed, but waved Pitty off. "You tried, I know you did. Oh, thank you Mrs. Dandridge," she said as she took the tea things from Marybeth. "Don't give it another thought, Miss PIttypat. I have another idea."

Marybeth left the ladies again, and closed the parlor door behind her, then took Christina upstairs for a nap before taking Edward out back. As she tossed a ball to him to chase, she thought about her situation. She didn't want to be a burden on anyone. She wanted to pay her own way, and not be beholden to others. She decided she would talk to Mrs. Meade that very evening after the children were in bed.

"Mrs. Meade," Marybeth said to her that evening after supper when the two women were alone in the parlor, Dr. Meade having gone on a house call. "Please don't think me ungrateful, I could never begin to repay you and your husband for sheltering and feeding us and especially for making Christina well again--he told me she was well enough to go outside tomorrow--but I really mustn't presume on your charity any further. Tomorrow I'll take the children and hunt for a job. As soon as I'm making money, I'll repay you and the doctor for all your kindness to us, I promise."

Mrs. Meade, put on the spot in that fashion, merely nodded her assent, but that night she discussed the matter with her husband as they were climbing into bed.

"So, what do you want to do, Mrs. Meade?"

"I want us to hire Mrs. Dandridge."

This did not surprise Dr. Meade. He had seen the way his wife had perked up with the little children around. She was more animated than he had seen her in quite a long time. And, Dr. Meade admitted to himself, he enjoyed the children himself. Edward was a funny little lad, and Christina was getting along nicely since the medicine was working. But still, he had to make some token objection.

"What happened to her looking for work?"

"I looked for her--you know she couldn't go out with the little sick baby. Pittypat was my last hope--she thought one of her Burr cousins might have needed a maid, but she called on me today--it seems they didn't need a girl after all."

"What if Betsy doesn't get along with her? You know how Betsy rules the kitchen."

"Dr. Meade! Am I or am I not the lady of the house? I think I can handle Betsy and Mrs. Dandridge. Besides, Betsy isn't getting any younger. It will be good for her to have someone young and strong to help her do the heavy work. "

"Then let's try her out, Mrs. Meade."

The next morning, the Meades offered Marybeth a job as their maid, with room and board included. Marybeth accepted, Christina was fully recovered, and that was how the Dandridge family established themselves in Atlanta.


	4. hydrangea4

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

"In addition to cooking meals, keeping the fire burning in the stove and hauling water, Mrs. Dandridge, the parlor and kitchen must be cleaned every day. Betsy and I usually do our sewing and mending in the evenings before it gets too dark, " Mrs. Meade was explaining to Marybeth as she walked her through the house, showing her where everything was kept.

"Then, of course, there are the weekly chores, washing on Monday, ironing on Tuesday, baking on Wednesday and Saturday. We clean house from top to bottom on Thursday, including sweeping and dusting. Marketing is done Friday morning and I make my social calls on Friday afternoon.

"The dishes are kept here--the dining room linens here--the silverware in here--and the pots and pans here. Follow Betsy's lead; she's been with us since before the War, and she runs the house in tiptop form."

Marybeth nodded at Betsy, who gave her a look of mingled pride at Mrs. Meade's praise, and warning in case Marybeth had any notions of challenging her authority in the domestic realm.

"Dr. Meade's study is here," Mrs. Meade was continuing her monologue. "Betsy will continue to clean that room--I'm afraid my husband keeps his books and papers strewn around, and she's used to his routine--knows what not to touch. You've seen the parlor already. I'll take you upstairs and show you where we keep the spare linens and candles. You've seen the sewing machine? Have you ever used one?"

Marybeth shook her head 'no'.

"I'll teach you how to use it, then. It will save you an enormous amount of time, especially with sewing for those two babies."

As they were walking downstairs again, Mrs. Meade said, "Naturally, we keep the Sabbath with church attendance and Bible reading and rest. Sometimes we may visit or receive visitors. In a nutshell, that's our routine. As I said, follow Betsy's lead."

And that's what Marybeth did. With Edward at her heels and Christina in sight, she moved among the various rooms, doing her tasks. Betsy watched her like a hawk and the first several days working alongside her were a constant stream of correction and criticism. Marybeth went to bed those nights worried she wouldn't keep her job, afraid that Betsy would go to Mrs. Meade with her complaints. So each day she would redouble her efforts and she tried desperately to please them both.

Mrs. Meade hadn't any complaints about Marybeth and she saw how hard she worked. But she would not intervene between the older black woman and the younger white girl. If Marybeth were to succeed in the Meade household, it was up to her to learn how to work harmoniously with Betsy. Slowly, Betsy's complaints lessened in frequency, but Marybeth never lost the sense of how closely she was being watched.

One morning she nursed Christina in the kitchen as Betsy kneaded the bread dough. They were each performing their tasks quietly, but then Betsy started to sing in her deep alto:

My latest sun is sinking fast

My race is nearly won

My strongest trial now has past

My triumph has begun.

Marybeth smiled as she listened to the song. After she had run away from home, but before she arrived in Atlanta, she had lived for several months on a farm with a family whose chief delight had been in music and singing. She had learned numerous hymns during that time--her own upbringing had been Catholic, so the sacred songs of her childhood had mostly been in Latin. Marybeth knew this song well, and joined in the chorus:

Oh come, angel band

Come and around me stand

Bear me away on your snow-white wings

To my immortal home

Betsy turned at the sound of Marybeth's soprano voice joining in, but Christina stopped nursing, startled at the sudden noise her mother had made. Marybeth grinned at Betsy, shrugged and guided Christina's mouth back to her breast. Betsy started to smile back before she remembered her own dignity, but she resumed her singing and kneading.

Later that day, Marybeth was cleaning the parlor and she paused after she ran the duster carefully over two daguerreotypes that were placed side by side. They were of two handsome young men in Confederate uniforms. She picked up one to look at more closely. He had kind eyes and a look of pride and determination. She put it down carefully and picked up the other. He looked like a mere child, younger than Marybeth was now.

"Mrs. Dandridge?"

Marybeth jumped, clutching the picture. The look on Mrs. Meade's face made her flush; she was afraid she had done something terribly wrong. She stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I-I was just looking--looking at these pictures--I didn't mean to pry into things that don't concern me."

Mrs. Meade walked over to Marybeth and took the picture from her hand gently and looked at it sadly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Meade," Marybeth repeated, twisting the duster in her hands. "It's just--they look like such nice boys--and I wanted to see up close--who are they?"

Mrs. Meade put the picture down gently and turned to Marybeth with a brave smile. "This is Darcy," she said, gesturing to the first picture, " and this is Phil," she said, gesturing to the one she had taken from Marybeth. She sighed a little. "Our two sons...both killed in the War." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Marybeth put her hand to her mouth, then impulsively reached out to pat Mrs. Meade's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad."

"My dear, you didn't make me sad--I look at these pictures every day, and I remember that they died as heroes." She turned to look at Edward, who was dangling a toy in and out of Christina's reach, making her laugh. "Mrs. Dandridge, if I could only give you one piece of advice, cherish every day you're given with your children. You have this posthumous reminder of your life with your late husband. Every day you have with them is a gift."

Marybeth's heart caught in her throat, partly because she was reminded of the lie she told about the children's paternity, and partly because she remembered how frightened she had recently been for Christina. She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Mrs. Dandridge, don't look so tragic! I don't pine my life away for my sons. I miss them terribly, of course, but I still have Dr. Meade to love."

Marybeth looked away from her then, willing herself not to cry. She _wouldn't_ cry.

"Mrs. Dandridge," said Mrs. Meade severely, "look at me."

Marybeth looked back at her.

"You simply have to be strong enough to carry the burdens you're given in this life. Now. No more sentimental nonsense out of you. Get back to your dusting." Mrs. Meade looked at her kindly for a moment, patted the children's heads, then turned and left the room.

As soon as she left the room, Marybeth flew to her children, caught them up and hugged and kissed them as if her life depended on it. But still she did not cry.

It was several days later when Mrs. Meade received two visitors. Two old friends had come to call. They introduced themselves to Marybeth as Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Wellburn; they were mother and daughter. Marybeth seated them in the parlor, brought Mrs. Meade to them and then brought in the tea and cakes. She served the ladies, eyes down and wearing a carefully blank expression.

"Captain Butler has left town again," said Mrs. Elsing.

"Already? But he was only here a week this time," replied Mrs. Meade.

Fanny Wellburn sniffed. "If he stays in Atlanta for more than three months in a year altogether, I'll eat my hat. And Scarlett never goes with him. She just stays in that monstrosity of a house between times. She rarely even goes to Tara."

"I declare, I just don't know what to make of that marriage anymore," said Mrs. Meade as Marybeth withdrew from the parlor and shut the door.

_I know what to make of it Mrs. Meade_, thought Marybeth. _That Captain Butler fellow is just a lowdown varmint, like all men. Admittedly, they're handy to have around if you need something heavy moved, and supposedly male protection is a good thing to have, although I've always found that a girl needs more protection from them than from anything else. Well, maybe a limited amount of cordial civility to a man wasn't too harmful, because then it would be easier to persuade him to carry your heavy stuff around if necessary, but let a girl fall in love with one of them and she was finished._

_That's not true_, a little voice teased. _ What about William? He wasn't a lowdown varmint._ Marybeth tried to push the thought away. William was the only boy she ever loved, but he wasn't the father of either of her children. In fact, William was lost to her forever thanks to Christina's father. Marybeth still missed him terribly, but she was through with men. It was enough for her to work and support Edward and Christina. Let other girls flirt and court and get married. Marybeth was through.


	5. hydrangea5

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

From the moment she was hired as a maid in the Meades' house, Marybeth set about to study her betters. She had been born a Brodie in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. They were lace-curtain Irish; bourgeois, comfortable, and socially acceptable. But nothing in Marybeth's life had prepared her for Atlanta society, with its old money, traditions, and caste system.

Marybeth had to admit, the training in manners and social graces, which her mother, Annamaria, had worked so relentlessly, to instill in her were standing her in good stead now. If she made mistakes in etiquette these days, they were errors of detail, not glaring gaffes. For instance, she might use the wrong fork, but she was unfailing in her deference to her elderly employees and their guests, which went far to earn their liking.

Marybeth was pleased with the situation she found herself in. The Meades lived on a quiet street and had a shady backyard for the children to play in. There was the usual round of cleaning, cooking, sewing and gardening, of course, but the Meades had grown up in a more leisurely world, and they made time for things like reading and visiting.

Mrs. Meade insisted on keeping a hand in the housekeeping, and when all things were considered, Marybeth's workload was rather light. In fact, she had the uncomfortable conviction that she and her children were actually creating more work for the Meades rather than alleviating it.

She had never been a superb seamstress, only an adequate one, but she was improving under Mrs. Meade's tutelage. Her cooking skills were improving under Betsy's training, and she felt proud of her increasing competence. In the hopes of giving something back in return, Marybeth offered to teach Betsy to read, but that only caused Betsy to laugh at her.

"I'se too ole to learn stuff like dat," was Betsy's reply.

At first, Marybeth wanted to do well because she wanted to keep her job, but as time went on, she found that she genuinely wanted to please the Meades because she liked them and was desirous of their good opinion.

She was overjoyed when Mrs. Meade gave her access to their library. She had stopped her schooling at age 15 to run away from home after she became pregnant with Edward, but she had always loved to read, and in the past years she had only had occasional opportunities to do so. Barely enough to whet her appetite for knowledge.

The Meades, on the other hand, were growing fond of Marybeth and the children. She was a hard worker, and her obvious desire to be helpful and useful was endearing enough, but they also enjoyed her company. She had a pleasant, cheerful personality, and the little children brought an unexpected ray of sunshine into their lives. Some people thought it was odd that they would want the noise and bother of little ones at their time of life, but it was the closest thing to grandchildren they would ever know after they lost Phil and Darcy in the War.

It was now a month since Marybeth had arrived in Atlanta, and life had become a pleasant, mellow affair. She kept house, cared for her children, and worked in the garden as Edward romped and Christina sat on a blanket, surrounded by cushions so she wouldn't fall over. She read the books on the shelves in any spare moment, and in the evenings when Dr. Meade was out, the three women sat in the lamp-lit parlor and talked of various and sundry. She learned much about Mrs. Meade's and Betsy's histories, and the two older women loved to talk about olden times. At least, they were olden times to Marybeth; things that happened before she was even born--things like the War. Marybeth avoided talking about herself as much as possible, but when she was maneuvered into it, she kept her remarks pithy and to the point. She had a dread fear of contradicting herself and exposing her false story. She wanted to keep her safe, comfortable position. Even Betsy's bossing was far preferable to life on the streets, so it wasn't too hard to submit meekly to it.

Mrs. Meade was not a demonstrative woman, so Marybeth would have been surprised if she had heard the Meades talking one night when they were alone.

"So, Mrs. Dandridge seems to be working out capably."

"She is, Dr. Meade. She's a hard worker."

"And Betsy?"

"Orders her around constantly, of course, but she's never come to _me_ with any tales. And you know she wouldn't hesitate to do so if there was anything serious that she didn't like about her."

"In that case, I'm glad I suggested hiring her."

"You suggested!--It was all my idea, Doctor," Mrs. Meade said indignantly, then put her head on her husband's shoulder. "But, it was your idea to bring her home for dinner--her and the babies. I'm glad you did."

The following day, Dolly Merriwether, one of Mrs. Meade's oldest friends, came to call. Mrs. Meade had been in the middle of sewing trim on a new dress, and brought it into the parlor to work on while she gossiped. Per their usual routine, Marybeth brought in the tea things, but before she could make her usual hasty retreat, Mrs. Meade said, "Mar--Mrs. Dandridge, why don't you bring in the mending basket? You can work on that while your children are napping."

Marybeth nodded and said, "Yes'm" before she went to find the basket. Of course, she had to obey, but she felt faint of heart as she climbed the stairs. Mrs. Meade had almost called her by her first name, and she wanted to keep her with her as she entertained a guest. It was rather like being on display. She had heard of Dolly Merriwether and had no desire to be observed by her at close range. A formidable older woman--one who was used to taking charge and whose keen eyes saw everything. Marybeth was trembling a little with anxiety as she quietly made her way back into the parlor. She found an unobtrusive spot to sit, but Mrs. Meade beckoned her closer, to sit with the two older ladies.

Mrs. Merriwether raised an eyebrow slightly at Mrs. Meade, but made no comment. Marybeth sat quietly, trying to follow the thread of the conversation between the two women, but most of it went over her head. It was mostly about people she had never met and clubs that she knew nothing about.

"Ashley Wilkes, just sleepwalking through life. It's a wonder that Beau is as outgoing and friendly as he is..."

"So, naturally I declined. After all, let somebody else have the chance to run the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of our Glorious Dead..."

"Wade Hampton Hamilton, due back from his Grand Tour in little over a month..."

Their gossip ran on in this vein for a while, then Mrs. Merriwether turned to Marybeth. "So, Mrs. Dandridge, what brought you to Atlanta?"

"I was looking for work."

"You have two children."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And your husband?"

"Died in a fire," Marybeth said, looking down at her left hand and fondling her ring.

Mrs. Merriwether stared at her a moment before changing the subject. "So, Caroline, you know Captain Butler's gone from Atlanta."

"Yes, I heard," Mrs. Meade replied as Marybeth resumed her sewing.

Mrs. Merriwether tisked and shook her head. "Those two are the strangest married couple I ever knew. Makes you wonder why they don't just get a divorce and have it over with."

"Scarlett is Catholic, or at least she was baptized that way."

"I doubt that would stop her."

"You know, Dolly," Mrs. Meade said, thoughtfully, "It occurred to me the other day--after Fanny Wellburn made a remark--Scarlett has never really done anything that shocking since, well, since Melanie died."

"Caroline!"

"But think about it, Dolly, she hasn't. Okay, she still runs the store, but aside from hers and Captain Butler's living arrangements, she hasn't done anything really shocking since then--and what has it been, about ten years? She doesn't associate with Yankees anymore, or that rich white trash she used to run with. She only makes calls among the old families--she only socializes with people like us. Not that she's given to much socializing these days."

"She has Melanie to thank for that. None of us would still be speaking to her at all, if Melanie hadn't stuck by her after that whole dreadful business the day of Ashley's party." She slid her eyes towards Marybeth, who was sitting decorously, mending one of the Doctor's shirts, eyes lowered to her sewing. Mrs. Merriwether couldn't tell if she was paying attention or not. Marybeth, who was entirely aware of the older woman's avid appraisal, was following the conversation and _was_ curious, but she had forced her expression into a completely guiless, blank expression. However, the effect was ladylike, and Mrs. Merriwether gave grudging approval. Real white trash would have loved to hear tales of the indiscretions of their betters.

Later that night, when Mrs. Meade and the Doctor were alone, she commented, "Marybeth seems to have won a little approval from Dolly today. Or at least, she hasn't rejected her out of hand."

"Why would that matter?"

"Oh it's just--never mind--ladies' business. But you know, I noticed from the first that her grammar and manners seemed to be a cut above the usual farmer's wife."

"Maybe she married out of her class. It happens, you know. She may have eloped, over the opinions of her family."

"You know what she said to me this evening? If I wanted to, I could call her 'Marybeth'. And I did. And I liked it."

What she didn't say to her husband was that, although nothing in the world could take the place of her lost sons, she was grateful to Providence for sending them their new housemaid and her children.


	6. hydrangea6

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Time went by and Marybeth started to notice a change in herself. For one thing, she was starting to feel safe again. At least, safe enough to stop carrying a knife in her boot; perhaps she didn't need it anymore. She had originally taken to carrying it after an incident that occurred not long after she'd run away from home. A street thug had robbed her. He had been bigger and stronger than she, and had forced her to give up all the money she had on her. After that incident she stole the knife and started carrying it for protection. She found that thugs were a cowardly lot and usually the mere sight of the knife was enough to deter her would-be attacker. Occasionally there had been times she'd been obliged to use physical force to protect herself, but only when she was cornered. Marybeth preferred to run--she was little, not much over five feet, but quick. Besides, she lacked the strength and experience to inflict anything more serious than a flesh wound, although she had inflicted a few flesh wounds on attackers who didn't think she was really serious with the knife. Then their shock at being stuck by such a little girl gave her the advantage of time enough to flee.

So there she sat, unarmed, in the upstairs room of the Meade's' house, poking fabric through the sewing machine and biting her lower lip with the effort of concentrating. It hadn't come easy to her, pumping the foot pedal at just the right speed while keeping the fabric moving smoothly and the seams at the same distance from the edge at all times. She was now capable of sewing a seam without bunching the fabric or running the stitches off the edge, but only if she gave it her undivided attention. But finish it she did, then snipped of the thread and looked up at the door.

"I gave her a little bit of mashed potatoes in the kitchen, but she's still hungry enough for more," said Mrs. Meade, who was standing in the doorway with Christina on her hip. The baby flashed Marybeth a drooling smile before holding her arms out to her.

Marybeth laughed and stood up, carefully draping her sewing over a chair before she took her baby. "Well, I'm glad, because I need a break from sewing."

Mrs. Meade followed her into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, while Marybeth was settling down into the stuffed chair to get comfortable.

"You're getting quite good at the sewing machine."

"Oh, I don't know that I'd say 'good', but I can sew straight."

"Just the same, you're good enough now that I'm going to take you with me to the next meeting of the Ladies Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy."

"What?"

"It's going to be at Maybelle Picard's house," Mrs. Meade said smoothly, as if Marybeth hadn't interrupted. "You met her mother, Mrs. Merriwether, remember?"

"Yes, but I..."

"We'll be making baby clothes."

"But with so many ladies there, won't it be too crowded for one more? I can help by working on baby dresses here. I don't need to go there."

Mrs. Meade looked at her with surprise. "No, it won't be too crowded. Besides, I need you there, Marybeth. My eyes aren't what they used to be, and I can sure use you to help thread needles."

Marybeth doubted that she was the only female in Atlanta who was competent to thread a needle and she frowned, worriedly.

"What is it, Marybeth?"

"Isn't membership in the Circle limited to ladies? I'm not a lady. I'm your maid. People will say I'm getting uppity and I don't know my place," Marybeth said, bluntly.

"I may bring a guest if I please, and this pleases me. Anybody who doesn't like it can answer to me," said Mrs. Meade with an air of finality. "I'll send you to the store for fabric and notions in a few days."

There was no more arguing with her, but Marybeth was still disturbed. She had lived in Atlanta long enough now to understand Atlanta society and her own place in it. Furthermore, she was perfectly comfortable with her "place". She only wanted to make a living for herself and her children, not break into society. She quailed at the idea of exposing herself to gossip and rejection. The Atlanta society ladies were a touchy lot. Many of them were still living in the past, having never given up the fine opinions of themselves they had been raised with, over 20 years ago, before the war. She knew her mountain accent, although Southern, was wrong. She didn't know every etiquette rule and was sure to make mistakes. But whatever Marybeth's shortcomings were, Mrs. Meade was determined to do this thing, and she just had to make the best of it.

_She can make me go this Sewing Circle_, thought Marybeth, darkly, _but she can't make me like it._


	7. hydrangea7

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Just as she said she would, one afternoon several days before the Sewing Circle, Mrs. Meade sent Marybeth to buy material and notions for baby clothes.

Edward stayed behind, being too young to be depended on to behave himself in the store. But she put Christina in the carriage and headed towards the business district. They were firmly in the dog days of summer now, and the heat was making people sluggish and cranky.

Marybeth was becoming more familiar with the layout of the streets and she was able to find the stores she needed when she was sent on errands, but she still had to pay attention to where she was going so she wouldn't get lost. As she turned the corner onto the street where the store was located, she noticed a small crowd had gathered in front of it. As she drew closer she saw that the center of attention was a frowsy, overdressed older woman with impossibly red hair. Impossible not only because nobody ever had that particular shade naturally, but also because her utter lack of gray was at distinct variance with the aging in her face.

Marybeth averted her eyes away from the crowd. The woman was obviously a prostitute. She had seen prostitutes many times in her travels; all the cities and larger towns had them. She left them alone and they left her alone. No matter how desperate she'd ever been, she was never tempted to earn money the way they did--the idea of being passed from man to man was completely repulsive to her. Picking pockets was much more clean and tidy. She was, however, a little surprised to see such a woman here. This was reputed to be a respectable neighborhood.

Marybeth was closer to the store now, and she was starting to catch snatches of the conversation.

"Hey, Belle!"

"That your real color?"

"How much, Belle?"

"My mama says women like you..."

It was a crowd of older boys. Some of them were about Marybeth's own age, some were a little younger. The woman called "Belle" was trying to ignore them, and she had a patient, resigned look on her face.

Marybeth couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her. Belle might be a bad woman, but there was no call for those boys to harass her like that. Still, it wasn't any of her affair, and she kept pushing her carriage.

The boys' joking became more coarse and vulgar as they warmed up to their teasing, and some of the things they were saying made Marybeth blush to her hairline and be fervently grateful that her daughter was too little to understand such language. Furthermore, she was starting to feel her blood boiling with anger. None of them had noticed her pushing her baby, but Marybeth had learned how to efface herself to avoid attention and she was careful as she approached the store.

She was almost at the door when she saw one of the boys pick up something from the street and start tossing it up and down in his hand, looking at Belle speculatively. That was the last straw. Marybeth simply reacted.

She opened the door and with a glance at the storekeeper she pushed the carriage with the now-sleeping Christina inside. Backing out, she picked up a good-sized stick that she'd seen on the sidewalk and dragged it a little behind her. Then she approached the boys.

"Excuse me!" she yelled.

The gang turned and looked at her. So did Belle.

"Break it up, boys, leave her alone."

The boys started snickering at the lone girl challenging them.

"Who do you think you are, trying to order me around like that?" Said some boy who seemed to be the ringleader. He gave her an evil grin.

"Maybe she's one of Belle's girls," suggested another boy, and they all started to laugh at her.

Marybeth brandished her stick. "I said, break it up and leave her alone!"

"Ooh, she's got a weapon!" One boy said, laughing even harder.

"Now give it over, Missy--be real nice and give it to me," said the ringleader, advancing on Marybeth with his hand out to grab the stick.

"Don't come any closer," Marybeth warned.

The boy advanced two more steps.

"I mean it," Marybeth said.

"What are you trying to do--a little girl like you," he said as he took still another step closer, hand still outstretched.

With strength that came from fear and rage, Marybeth swung the stick like a baseball bat then heard a sickening crack and a howl of pain from the boy. He stumbled back, holding his wrist. He shouted at her, outraged, "What do you think you're doing, you crazy b--"

"Don't you dare call me a name!" Marybeth screamed back at him, shaking the stick at him.

One of the other boys took a step towards her, but she clenched the stick in both hands, whirled on him and said, "Don't try it." He stepped back again.

Panting heavily the ringleader hollered at Marybeth, "I think you broke it! Just you wait until I tell my Pa."

"Fine, tell him. Go on, see what I care. Tell your pa you got beat by a girl."

At this, some of the boys smothered smiles. After all, it was true. Their leader was beat by a girl.

"Now, go home, all of you!"

The boys hesitated, looking at each other, but they started ambling away. Marybeth looked around. A crowd had gathered. She hadn't even noticed before. Belle was staring at her.

"You okay?" Marybeth asked.

"Yes. Thank you," Belle said.

"You're welcome," replied Marybeth curtly and walked into the store. Once inside she touched her sleeping daughter's head and tried to still her shaking hands. Then she realized she was still carrying the stick. She tucked it under the carriage. Now that it was all over she felt dizzy and nauseous. Somehow she managed to buy everything on Mrs. Meade's list, and she was unaware of the surreptitious, amused looks the shopkeeper was giving her.

She walked home, stick at the ready in case any of the boys thought about avenging their leader, but nobody bothered her. Belle was gone.

When she arrived home she approached Mrs. Meade and confessed the whole story. Mrs. Meade looked at her in dismay, but didn't speak until Marybeth was finished.

"Thank you for coming to me with this first, so I didn't have to hear it from somebody else. Marybeth, do you know what a prostitute is?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, that's what Belle Watling is. You shouldn't have talked to her. As for the rest--I don't even know where to begin. This will have to wait until the doctor comes home."

Mrs. Meade met her husband at the door late that night for a private word. He listened to her story, but he had already heard it at work. He went into the kitchen where a nervous Marybeth was washing dishes and crooked a finger at her.

"Come with me, Dandridge."

White-faced, Marybeth followed him into his study and stood on the carpet with her arms across her stomach. He leaned back against his desk and stroked his beard, looking at her for a few moments.

"You realize, young lady, that you behaved in a most unseemly manner today?"

Marybeth nodded. She was too frightened to speak.

"Not only unseemly, but dangerous. Fighting with boys, swinging a heavy stick around, yelling at the top of your voice, talking to Belle Watling. You made quite a spectacle of yourself, from everything I've heard, and several people made it a point to come tell me at my office."

Marybeth could only nod again. It was all true.

"If you are to continue living in this house, you must learn to conduct yourself in a more ladylike manner. No yelling, no fighting, and be more selective about who you associate with. I don't want to hear of any more didoes like that again. Do you understand?"

Marybeth managed to whisper, "Yes."

"Very good. You may go."

But Marybeth stayed, looking at the doctor. Swallowing hard, heart pounding, she managed to say, "But I couldn't just stand there and let that boy throw something at her. I just couldn't. It was just like that story from the Bible--the story of the woman taken in adultery--and I just couldn't let them do that."

Dr. Meade looked at her intently. "Then why didn't you get the shopkeeper to help you? He was there, and both of his sons were helping in the back room, too. They're there every day. Why would you even consider trying to take them on all by yourself?"

"I don't know. I just did."

"Dandridge, the Good Lord gave you a brain. He expects you to use it to think. They were too many for a lone girl--_you should have gone for help_. Furthermore, by your actions you have subjected us all to gossip and speculation. And, if they had all turned on you at once--I don't even want to imagine what would have happened. You have to think before you act--you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

He dismissed her then, but he was troubled. That night as he and his wife were getting into bed, he asked her what she planned to do with Marybeth.

"She might turn into quite a handful."

"Then I'll just have to train her up right--like a lady."

"So you're still going to let her stay?"

"Doctor Meade! How can you even insinuate such a thing! As if I would turn her and those babies out. I've taken her in, and it's obvious she needs a guiding hand. If we gave up on her now, what would become of the three of them? No, Doctor. They're my responsibility, and I'm going to stick with it."

Dr. Meade smiled in the darkness. He knew all along his wife would not put her out on the streets for this indiscretion. He just wanted to remind her of that.

"All the same, Doctor, it won't hurt her to worry for a few days. Maybe it will make an impression on her. So don't tell her what I just told you."


	8. hydrangea8

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to all the people who have reviewed. You're all wonderful. The hit count has been high, so I know people are reading. I'd love to hear your comments. I don't bite, scratch or take offence that easily. **

Marybeth was not yet 15 when she became pregnant with Edward. And instead of telling her parents the news and enduring the scandal that was sure to result, she had chosen to flee. Her first taste of life on the streets came as soon as she first ran away from home. Faced with poverty and danger, she lived by stealing and defended herself by fighting and survived by her wits. At least until she became too big and unwieldy to fight or steal anymore. But her memories of those days never quite faded. More than anything she feared ever having to go back to that life.

Therefore it was a very subdued Marybeth who went about her duties for the next few days after the incident at the store. She barely spoke, didn't join Betsy in song, and rarely smiled, even when Edward's antics were clearly directed towards getting her attention. Furthermore, the weather had become even muggier and frequent thunderstorms kept the townspeople indoors except for urgent business. During that time the Meade household was virtually isolated without it's normal stream of visitors. And with the three women confined to the house, Marybeth was subjected to Betsy's frequent, curious sidelong glances, but she refused to satisfy her curiosity by confiding in her. Not that it mattered much in the end. Betsy always managed to know everything that went on whether she was told or not.

But eventually the rain stopped, and the women went to work in the garden on the first sunny day, clearing tree limbs and tending to storm-damaged plants. So it wasn't until after supper that Mrs. Meade received a visitor in the form of Dolly Merriwether. Mrs. Merriwether had been in town all day, doing the errands it had been too wet to do earlier in the week, and she was caught up on all the gossip and had hurried over to share it with Mrs. Meade. Marybeth was putting her children to bed, and Mrs. Merriwether was glad. She wanted Caroline to herself this time.

"If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I would have never believed it," she started.

"Believed what?"

"I'm not saying I approve of the way your girl did it, and I'm only telling you this because you're one of my oldest and dearest friends, and I know you must have given her a thorough talking-to, but I can't quite condemn her in spite of it all."

Mrs. Meade stared at her. Was Dolly being sarcastic? Or had she lost her mind? "I beg your pardon?"

"The whole town is talking about it, Caroline."

"I'm sure they are," Mrs. Meade replied wearily.

"It was that group of no-accounts that have been harassing people this summer."

"Which one?" Asked Mrs. Meade, dryly.

"The one that beat up that nice Webster boy. And a lady could barely walk by them on the streets without being subjected to rude remarks, and they--"

"That's who Marybeth ran into?"

"It certainly was. Not that I think that Watling creature deserves defending, and your hired girl's behavior was shockingly unladylike, but--well, anyway, that group's broken up. When that boy's father found out--Mrs. Dandridge broke his wrist, by the way--and found out that he'd been beaten up by a girl, he whaled the tar out of him--said he couldn't hold his head up in this town--and called him a whole passel of other names, too. The other boys didn't want to follow him anymore. And that was that."

Of course, any city had its share of roving bands of toughs and Mrs. Meade knew that the boys would probably just find somebody else to be the leader, but she was too dazed to talk to Dolly any further about this turn of events. She waited up for the doctor to come home. He had heard the same story around town. People were laughing about it, of course, but nobody was outright condemning Marybeth. Of course, she would have to act more properly in the future, and the Meades would have to keep a closer rein on her, but by and large the town was willing to overlook her conduct. At least this once.

"Are you going to tell her?" He asked.

"And let her think what she did was acceptable? Of course not. But Dr. Meade, you let me handle this."

"What about Sewing Circle?"

Mrs. Meade sighed. "I already told Maybelle I was bringing her. I don't want to go back on my word now."

Later that night Mrs. Meade pulled Marybeth into the parlor and sat her down.

"Have we made ourselves clear about the kind of deportment we expect from you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"No more fighting?"

"No, ma'am."

"Or hollering?"

"No."

"No more scenes or talking to no-account people?"

Marybeth shook her head. "No ma'am."

"Then we won't speak anymore about it."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

Later that night, Marybeth lay on her bed, relieved that she had been forgiven by Mrs. Meade, but she was still awake, listening to the sounds of Edward sleeping on his cot and Christina sleeping in her crib. She was remembering the moment those couple of years ago when it was brought home to her just how alone in the world she was.

_Pregnant with Edward, she had wandered into one of the towns, which had sprung up as people settled farther and farther west. It was large enough to have a "bad part of town" and that's where she wound up. Marybeth had stolen enough to eat the day before and had found shelter in a corner of a stable, where she spent the night. But she hadn't eaten since then and now it was almost time for supper, and she had to make a decision--either buy a train ticket and move on, or buy something to eat--there wasn't enough money left over to do both._

_Not wanting to draw any undue attention to herself, she ducked into a little alley between two buildings. She sat down tiredly on an old crate and pulled her legs under herself Indian style. A door opened as she sat, and a gaudily dressed woman poked her head out. She studied Marybeth narrowly then said," Come on in, girlie, I'll make you a sandwich."_

_Marybeth ate the sandwich gratefully and washed it down with a cup of tea as the woman stood, arms crossed, studying her. _

"_You looking for work, girlie?"_

_Marybeth nodded._

_The woman sat down catty corner from her, and folded her hands on the table._

"_I'm looking for a girl like you--decent manners and quiet. Your delicate features and wistful expression are just what my clients like--the illusion of innocence."_

"_What--?"_

"_Let me fix you up a bit, girlie--I can make sure you bring in top dollar. Only my best class of clients." She leaned back then. "In fact, if you work it right, you could be paramour to a rich man."_

"_No--no," Marybeth said, shaking her head, dazed, as comprehension dawned. She knew what the word "paramour" meant. The woman had misunderstood. Marybeth wanted to find honest work, not the kind that went on in a place like this!_

"_It's nothing difficult, you know. Just do whatever you're told, and you'll make out just fine."_

_Marybeth was horrified. What had been done to her by her baby's father was hateful and still gave her nightmares. Then, she had been thoroughly shocked when she found out later that some women did that sort of thing on purpose and then accepted payment. But Marybeth had no intention of letting any man ever touch her again. Ever. _

"_I can't. You see, there's a baby on the way--I'm in a fix," Marybeth said evenly, although she blushed hotly._

_The woman looked over Marybeth's frame with an expert eye and shrugged. "So what, girlie? You're not showing yet and you haven't felt signs of life, I'll be bound. I can give you a tisane--you'll cramp a little, bleed a little, and when the bleeding stops, you'll be just fine again and you can go straight to work. If tisanes don't work, there are other things...but don't worry about it. I'm sure it will work, and I won't even charge you for my help."_

_Marybeth sat, stunned and devastated. The baby inside her had changed her life, uprooted her from her family and home, set her feet on a lonely and dangerous road. Heaven only knew what lay at the end. But she didn't want any harm to come to it. In fact, until just now, it hadn't occurred to her that she could possibly lose it. She put her hands over her belly protectively as she came to the realization that if she lost this baby, she would never recover. She didn't want to live if her baby died. A wave of maternal feeling swept over her and her eyes flashed as she looked at the Madam._

"_Thank you for the sandwich, but I must be going," Marybeth fought to keep her voice even._

_The Madam shrugged. "I won't withdraw my offer. You know where to find me."_

_Marybeth let herself out, mind reeling from the conversation. Later that night, she was successful at "obtaining" enough money for a train ticket and a couple days worth of food, if she could make it stretch. After all, she might be a thief, but she was not a whore... _

**Up until now, the chapters have been primarily introduction. In the next chappie, the focus shifts slightly, and canon characters come to the fore. Hope you liked! Please review, it keeps me on focus. TY. **

**A/N, OR, BORING TECHNICAL STUFF: **

In response to some controversy over some of my word choices, I wish to make the following reply: First and foremost, thanks for your interest in this story. The word okay (or O.K.) has been in use in America since the 1830's, first in print, and then in general verbal usage. It's use was widespread in America by the time of the Civil War, and by the late 1800's was starting to spread to England. Also, in the 1800's, an older teenage boy could be referred to as a boy, a man, a gentleman (as in gentleman caller), whatever depending on the circumstances and the preference of the speaker/writer. I've seen teenage boys referred to as "boy" in writings by LM Montgomery and Laura Ingalls Wilder, to name just two authors who were both alive at the time and knew the usages. TTFN!


	9. yellow rose 1

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**A million thank you's to everybody who reviewed. They're encouraging and so much fun to read!!!**

_The only thing I hate more than Sewing Circle_, thought Ella Lorena Kennedy,_ is Sewing Circle during June, July and August._

Of course, she hadn't known that until just this summer. From the time she started school, up until now, she had spent all her summers at her mother's farm, a good-sized piece of land out in Clayton County known as Tara. But this summer she had begged her mother to allow her to stay in town. She had friends in the country, but she was tired of missing all the fun her city friends had during the summer. Furthermore, a certain member of the Whiting clan had been coming to call quite regularly since the spring. He would be going away to college this fall and she didn't want to go to Tara all summer just to have him spark some other girl. And much to Ella's surprise, Mother had allowed her to stay.

One of the unfortunate consequences, however, was that now she had to go to Circle during the hot summer months. Ella found it tedious and dull at any time of year, but in the summer it was unbearable. Summer was for going outside, picnics by the creek, gossiping with girlfriends on the porch for long hours, exploring the riding trails. Not that Ella was forbidden these simple summertime pleasures, but she was feeling rebellious today--she didn't want to be stuck indoors to listen to a bunch of old ladies talk about things that happened a long time ago that nobody cared about anymore.

Then there was an added annoyance. Ella's best friend, Jenny Whiting, had left town with her family the day before. They were headed to Saratoga for vacation. That left Ella on her own. There were other young girls who attended these things; girls like her who were made to attend by mothers or grandmothers, but the old dragons always separated the younger girls. They said the young girls of today were too frivolous and given to chatting when they should have been working. But Ella and Jenny always managed to find some fun in Circle, usually by making faces at each other across the room then daring each other with their eyes not to laugh.

When they arrived at the Picard's house, she was able to exchange a few quick whispered words with young Virgie Simmons while Mother exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Picard. Virgie gleefully filled her in on the latest gossip.

"You'll never guess who's here--Mrs. Meade's new hired girl--Marybeth Dandridge!"

"No!"

"Yes! And she's right in the next room, right this minute."

Ella was heartened a little. She and Jenny had heard the whole story about what happened to Mrs. Dandridge outside the store and they had discussed it at length. Now Ella would get to see her in person. _Tough luck if Jenny misses out_--Ella thought--_serves her right, going off with her family and deserting me like that._

Ella slipped away from Virgie and into the Picard's spacious parlor. The furniture had been rearranged for Sewing Circle, and sure enough, there was the new girl.

But--something must be wrong. _This_ was the infamous Marybeth Dandridge? Ella spied a sedate-looking lady in nondescript navy calico, brown hair pulled smoothly into a simple bun at the back of her neck, calmly sorting sewing supplies on the table in front of her. She even looked a little pale. Ella felt a frustrated disappointment.

Obviously, the gossip had spun out of control. Surely, this could not be the same girl who drove off a gang of boys, inflicting injury on one of them, then calmly proceeded to actually _talk_ to Belle Watling. Ella and Jenny knew who Belle Watling was, of course, but they would never let their mothers know that they knew. Neither of them had any clear idea exactly what made her bad, either. Both girls had theories, of course, involving men and something unseemly about money, but they couldn't be sure. And naturally, nobody was about to tell them the truth, not at their impressionable young ages. And this decorous looking girl actually talked to her? It was barely to be believed.

But all the same, a juicy bit of gossip was a juicy bit of gossip and Jenny would be pea green with envy to find out that Ella had talked to Mrs. Dandridge first. So Ella waited until Marybeth sat down and hurried to take one of the seats next to her.

Ella pulled out the chair and smiled at Marybeth in her most dignified manner. "I am Miss Kennedy. How charming to meet you," she said as she held out her hand.

"I'm Mrs. Dandridge, likewise, I'm sure," Marybeth responded, smiling.

Well, thought Ella, Marybeth Dandridge did have a friendly smile. At least she wasn't aloof or cold.

Ella's mother sat at Ella's other side and was introduced to Marybeth. The other ladies were trickling in and finding seats. Marybeth saw Mrs. Meade take a seat across the room from her, with a sensation of alarm. Surely she wouldn't be left to flounder with all these strange ladies! But Mrs. Meade merely looked at Marybeth with an expression of encouragement that was mixed with warning not to do anything startling.

The sewing started and Marybeth, experiencing agonies of shyness, concentrated on the work in front of her. Which was actually for the best, for all the ladies in the room had heard of the incident in front of the store and although none of them said it out loud, they were all keeping an eye on Marybeth, watching her behavior minutely.

Marybeth could hear the conversation between Ella's mother, who was named Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Elsing, who Marybeth had met at the Meade's house that one day.

"...So I said to him, the state of the country roads outside Atlanta is simply atrocious for traveling, " Mrs. Elsing was saying in an elegant, die-away drawl. Mrs. Butler nodded and murmured her assent.

Ella, still feeling rebellious, leaned over to Marybeth and in a voice too quiet for anybody but the two of them to hear, said, "It was just simply atrocious," in flawless and mocking imitation of Mrs. Elsing. Marybeth's eyes flew to hers, startled. Ella grinned at her, then resumed sewing.

"Why the last time my granddaughter tried to ride on those roads, her horse nearly threw her!" Mrs. Elsing said.

"Why, it just nearly did. Land sakes," said Ella in the same voice, with a wink at Marybeth.

Marybeth looked to Ella, then to Mrs. Elsing, who hadn't heard a word Ella said, and then back to her sewing.

"It's simply not safe for civilized travel," continued Mrs. Elsing.

Ella, who was enjoying herself immensely now that she had a captive audience, muttered, without even looking at Marybeth, "It was dreadful, I tell you, when she landed in the middle of the road, right on her bottom."

At this, Marybeth choked on a laugh, sounding instead as if she were having a coughing fit.

"Are you quite all right, Mrs. Dandridge?" Asked Ella, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Quite all right, thank you, Miss Kennedy," she answered, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

Ella was satisfied. This afternoon didn't have to be dull after all. Reverting back to her dignified voice, she asked, "Has it occurred to you, Mrs. Dandridge, that the name 'Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy' is rather a silly name? Look at me. _I_ was born after the War. All the orphans are all grown up now."

"Perhaps they just never got around to changing the name," Marybeth answered, trying to be reasonable. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be taking Miss Kennedy seriously and didn't know how to respond to her.

"But don't you think they would want a name that was _short_ and less work to have to say?"

"Perhaps, but maybe they just..."

"_Girls, hush!_"

Their conversation had been broken into by Mrs. Butler, much to Marybeth's mortification.

"Go back to your sewing. There will by time for socializing later." Mrs. Butler gave them both a severe look before she turned her attention back to Mrs. Elsing. Marybeth blushed deeply at being corrected, but Ella looked utterly unrepentant. She simply shrugged her shoulders and continued sewing. But Marybeth glanced at Mrs. Meade, who didn't seem to have noticed anything amiss.

Once she composed herself, she looked over at Mrs. Butler. She wasn't what one would call beautiful, but she was attractive for a woman her age. Her hair was utterly black, without any trace of gray, her face was unlined. There was a look around the mouth of strong will and a look around the eyes that could have only come from forcing herself to patiently endure something she had never had any intention of enduring. But her skin was very fair and she had kept her figure, and Marybeth suspected she'd been quite the belle once upon a time.

Miss Kennedy, on the other hand, didn't look much like her mother. Ginger haired, her skin had the pale, translucent quality often found in red headed persons, yet she had somehow managed to avoid being freckled. She wasn't beautiful, either, and one couldn't even precisely call her pretty, but she was cute. Her face had a changeable quality about it, with a tiny little nose, a mouth that seemed made for laughing, and eyes full of mischief.

The rest of the afternoon was gotten through without further incidents and Marybeth and Ella parted ways cordially. But she was devoutly thankful when she and Mrs. Meade were alone in the carriage. Mrs. Meade was satisfied. Marybeth had acquitted herself well. Of course, she was aware that Scarlett Butler had scolded her and Ella for talking, but to Mrs. Meade that was nothing to be upset about. It was good to see Marybeth with a girl her own age for once. And the young girls always chattered. This younger generation simply wasn't what Mrs. Meade's generation had been, after all.

On Marybeth's part, now that the strain of meeting new people was over and she was safely away from their watchful eyes, she could enjoy the ride home. They needed to stop at Dr. Meade's office first, and the route they took was through streets Marybeth hadn't seen yet.

She was staring out the window when a particular building caught her eye. It was a Catholic church. Marybeth looked at it curiously and arranged her face into a carefully blank expression as a wave of homesickness hit her hard.

She hadn't been to her own church since she ran away from home. But Marybeth was raised to respect religion and that lesson had always stuck. Besides, she believed that miracles were wont to happen with prayers and churches. In any case, a miracle had happened to her once.

When her first pregnancy had advanced to the point where she was too unwieldy to steal and too slow to fight, desperation set in. It was winter, she was cold and hungry, and it had come home to her just how reckless and foolhardy it had been for her to run away and try to survive on her own. She was wandering along the streets of a large town when she happened to see the sign for a meeting to be led by a traveling preacher in a local Protestant church. Marybeth decided then and there that she would go. She needed to get in from out of the cold for a while.

When she arrived at the church, she found a spot in the back corner and sat down in the pew gratefully. She felt safe here, and it was warm. As far as she was concerned, the meeting could go on all night.

The building started filling up and the warmth of all the bodies packed together was making her drowsy. She was almost about to fall asleep when the organ blared and the congregation got up to sing. She stood up with the rest, but she didn't know the hymns. "Rock of Ages", "Old Rugged Cross", "How Great Thou Art", all utterly foreign to her. But it didn't matter. Then the preacher got up and preached, loudly at the top of his voice. He talked about sin, he talked about salvation. Marybeth couldn't help being amazed at how noisy Protestants were when they prayed, but she was too tired and hungry to care. She was sitting down and he was preaching a nice long sermon.

Then he invited everyone to pray. For the first time in several months, she actually prayed--_Lord help me and my baby. I'm desperate_.

Then the organ blared again for the altar call--everybody who wished to be saved could go to the altar to be prayed over. Some people started leaving then, but Marybeth didn't want to because the only place she had to go was out into the cold. So she stayed in the back and watched.

As the newly saved Christians started to file out, one of them, a middle-aged woman full of charity and Spirit and eager to do good caught her eye and approached her. The two of them struck up a conversation until the woman's husband and children came up from the altar and joined them. Then the woman pulled her husband aside and the two of them had an urgent, whispered conference, the end result being that they extended an invitation to Marybeth to stay with them. They were a farm family and in need of a hired girl. In exchange, they would help Marybeth through the latter part of her pregnancy. Marybeth agreed. Her miracle happened--she found a place to stay.

**A/N: Okay, end of this chapter. I hope you liked it. Please review, and coming up next: a Scarlett-centric chapter. **


	10. yellow rose 2

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Everybody who ever read GWTW has their own idea of how it all played out after Rhett walked out the door not giving a damn. Here's what I think happened. Of course, the story hasn't concluded yet…**

Scarlett Butler sat at her desk, pencil in hand, staring out at nothing. She was supposed to be adding the totals for the store, but her mind was wandering, just as it had been all day.

In less than a month her house would be full. Wade Hampton would be home from his Grand Tour and Rhett was coming to Atlanta, arranging for his arrival to coincide with Wade's. It would be good to have her family around again.

This past year had been rather a lonely one and she had been more than glad to allow Ella to stay in Atlanta over the summer. She realized with a sense of surprise how much she would have missed the girl if she had gone to Tara like she had every other year. Scarlett would have been terribly alone rattling around the mansion with only the servants for company.

She was also taken by surprise with how much she missed her son. After all, he never seemed to make much of an impression when he was home. He was quiet and serious, his manner towards her unfailingly courteous and grave. His Hamilton blood was quite evident in the interest he took in books and culture and art, things Scarlett had never cared about, and in the way he had worked so hard in school to earn high marks. When she thought about it, Scarlett could see how logical, how fitting it was; the way the Hamiltons had intermarried with the Wilkeses over so many generations, Wade had to have inherited some Wilkes blood. He also had outdoor interests; he was an expert horseback rider--Rhett had taught him--and he played other sports with his friends passably well. His small circle of friends included his cousin Beau Wilkes, for the two were as close as brothers. But like Charlie Hamilton before him, Wade was timid with girls. But it never seemed to bother him very much: there was only one girl that Wade had ever shown an interest in, and that girl was Elsie Wellburn.

Scarlett's son would be home and so would her husband. She looked at the letter sitting on her desk. It was from Rhett, announcing his arrival date. Letters from Rhett were so unexpected she had opened it with shaking hands, hoping it wasn't bad news. He rarely ever sent word of when he planned to be in Atlanta. He would simply appear on the doorstep, putting the whole household into a state of uproar. The servants would be galvanized into action, scurrying about preparing his room, fixing his favorite meals, attending to his creature comforts. Wade and Ella would hurry from wherever in the house they happened to be to greet him. Both her children adored Uncle Rhett, and Scarlett knew the feeling was mutual. He would always bring them gifts and tell them interesting stories about the places he visited which kept them enthralled. But it was more than gifts and stories that bound them to their stepfather.

When they were children, Rhett took the time to play with them whenever he was home and they throve on his regard, as limited as it was to his infrequent visits. He also had a way of paying them attention, of listening to them as seriously as he would an adult. And now that Wade actually was an adult and Ella nearly so, they both had an easygoing affection towards him. As for their feelings towards Scarlett, well...

When she sat at Melanie Wilkes' deathbed, she promised her dying sister-in-law that she would do certain things--look after little Beau, oversee Ashley's needs. And with all her heart, she had _meant_ to do it. And she realized, although she hadn't put it into words, that her children would also be bereft of Melanie's maternal love and that all three children would have only Scarlett to rely on for mothering.

But on the heels of these fine promises came an unbearably shocking blow--the estrangement between herself and Rhett. And with all the strength of her willful nature she directed her energy towards winning Rhett back.

Rhett, however, possessing an equally strong will, refused to be won. He was as good as his word, Scarlett reflected. In order to keep gossip down (although it hadn't been squashed entirely) he came back to Atlanta periodically, treated her with polite courtesy in front of the servants and the children, foiled all her attempts to maneuver him alone and to her despair and chagrin spent at least half his nights in Atlanta with Belle. He was very discreet these days, he never mentioned Belle's name and she didn't think the children were aware of his nocturnal absences. But she didn't sleep well on those nights, torturing herself with imagings about Rhett and that creature.

The fact was, everybody in the household loved Rhett. The servants were fond of him, Ella had taken to confiding in him about her girlish infatuations and Wade Hampton found him to be an excellent source of advice when he needed to talk to him man-to-man. There was even one time that Scarlett, peering through the window of the second floor, had seen Beau Wilkes out in the paddock with Rhett, the two of them involved in serious conversation. Amazed beyond measure, she had run out to the paddock herself, unable to contain her curiosity. Beau had greeted her arrival with a kiss and a smile for "Aunt Scarlett", Rhett had regarded her with cool courtesy, but they _would_ not continue their conversation while she was there.

But how did Scarlett feel? Scarlett was the one who heard Rhett's approach with trembling, with wild hope and fear. She remembered minutely every detail of their conversation the night Melanie died. It was etched into her very brain. He would not be pursued as she had pursued Ashley. Afraid to drive him away permanently, wanting desperately to induce him to stay, she could only strive to be the woman she believed he wanted. There were to be no tears, no scenes. She matched his cool, polite courtesy point for point. She worked to bring grace and beauty into their home and their life because he said he wanted grace and beauty. She tried to act like all the other Atlanta matrons, attending their clubs and circles, insisting that Wade and Ella do so also, because Rhett said he wanted the outward semblance of respectability. And she had only been to Tara twice since that fateful night--a brief visit following Melanie's funeral and a second visit when she and Suellen were wrangling over their inheritance. Because, after all, he might come home and she might miss his visit...

**A/N: Short, to the point, and setting up the action for later scenes. **

**If you've read this story up to this point, there must be something that kept you reading. Let me know. Any helpful hints or kudos are also welcome. To everybody who's reviewed so far, merci, gracias and thank you. The hit count remains high.**


	11. yellow rose 3

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thank you, everybody who reviewed, you wonderful people!!! I can't say how much it means to get feedback. Don't be shy about reviewing for this chapter, either. And now, back to the story… **

Ella Lorena Kennedy had a well-deserved reputation for being giddy. She possessed an endless appetite for fun, was only a passable student during her school days, and couldn't care less about books and art and culture and other subjects of that ilk. Any time the conversation around her turned serious, it was quite obvious from her face that her mind was wandering--she didn't make any effort try to follow the subject at hand or even to pretend to. Nonetheless she was well liked among her own set--too frivolous to be taken seriously, but a lively girl who made friends easily.

Her fun-loving nature drew people to her and her light-mindedness made her indiscriminate in the choices of friends she made. If Ella met a person who was lively and entertaining, particularly if they made her laugh, she would reach out the hand of friendship. And while most of her friends came from her own class, she was equally at ease among the black servants, especially the girls near her own age, and among the poor whites who lived near Tara, for Clayton county had seen an increase in poor families in the years since the War. But she drew the line at trash, either white or black. A person mightn't help being poor, Ella reasoned, (and hadn't her own family emerged from poverty?) but they didn't have to be crude or vulgar. And she had no use for nasty, mean-spirited people, either.

Her flighty ways masked a certain awareness about social matters. She had memories--dim, half forgotten memories from her earliest years--memories of glittering, overly dressed women, loud overbearing men, raucous parties at her mother and stepfather's mansion where every light in the house would be blazing and the orchestra played until three, four, or five o'clock in the morning. And there was something else with these memories; the half-forgotten sense that the Rhett Butler family in those days was not quite respectable, and certainly not socially admissible. At least, not among the people who received them now.

She dimly remembered names like "Gelert", "Hundon", and "Bart"; remembered playing with children who had these names. But they were gone now. Where they went Ella didn't know. Her friends now included people like the Whitings, the Simmons, the Picards. And somehow she understood that her new friends were of much better quality than the ones of her earliest childhood. And somehow she understood that the difference had nothing to do with monetary wealth.

Ella had thoroughly enjoyed twitting Marybeth Dandridge at Sewing Circle. She suspected that under the other girl's quiet demeanor there was somebody who could appreciate a good joke. After all, hadn't Ella gotten a laugh out of her? That Mrs. Dandridge was a hired girl and therefore not of Ella's class meant little to her. And besides, with Jenny out of town and Virgie having to entertain company tonight and Albert Whiting having to work too late this evening to call on her...

It was two days after Sewing Circle. Marybeth was sitting on a blanket in the back yard after supper, watching Edward run around the yard while Christina tried her hardest to pull up to a standing position using her mother's arm for support. Her little legs weren't quite strong enough to hold her for long and her balance was worse, so Marybeth had to catch her before she'd fall down. But Christina thought it was great fun and she squealed with laughter over her game of "stand up-sit down" and Marybeth sang to her:

"It rained all night the day I left

The weather it was dry

The sun so hot I froze to death

Susanna don't you cry..."

Marybeth stopped singing when she heard the back door open and turned her head in time to hear Betsy call, "Miss Kennedy to see you."

Heaving herself to her feet and settling Christina on her hip, she went to meet Ella Kennedy, who had stopped at the bottom step, hand outstretched, surveying the scene in front of her.

"Oh, Mrs. Dandridge, are these your children? Oh, they're _sweet_!" Ella said, taking Marybeth's hand. Marybeth looked at her admiringly. She looked like she just stepped out of a bandbox. Surely she hadn't dressed up so fancy just to visit her.

"Thank you Miss Kennedy. Your dress is simply lovely."

"It is, isn't it?" Ella answered candidly. "Thank you for the compliment. But I just love pretty clothes." Then, thinking that maybe it wasn't nice to brag about her outfit when Marybeth was dressed in a plain work dress, she rushed on with her conversation. "I wanted to come and see you again. But first, can't we just call each other 'Ella' and 'Marybeth'? You don't mind, do you? It would sure be a lot simpler, you know."

Marybeth nodded and offered her a chair.

"Well thank you," Ella said and started to sit down but stopped halfway to the seat. "Look, a ball! Would you mind if I threw it to--um--" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "What's your son's name?"

"Edward. And no, I don't mind at all. Come here, Baby!" Marybeth called to her son. He came running over and Ella tossed the ball for him to catch. It landed wide and he ran for it, laughing.

"I'm glad we got the whole matter of our names out of the way, Marybeth. I really liked meeting you at Circle. We had fun, didn't we?"

"Well..." Marybeth paused, but she was grinning.

Edward came running up with the ball and Ella tossed it again.

"Are you upset about Mother scolding us? Don't give it a second thought. All the old cats--I mean the older ladies--get mad when we try to hold a simple conversation. Jenny and Virgie and I get in trouble all the time. You'd think _they_ never gossip among themselves at all. But don't you be fooled. They know everything that goes on in this town, and if you keep your ears open you'll learn all the juicy gossip and family stories."

"But I thought they all seemed quite charming," Marybeth protested.

"Oh, they are, really they are. But you know what happens when a whole group of ladies meets regularly. You passed inspection, by the way." Ella was grinning at Edward, holding the ball over his head and making him jump for it. Edward was laughing with delight.

"What?" Marybeth said, startled.

"Nobody could find fault with you. I know because I kept my ears open. I mean everybody was curious because of that whole thing that happened at the store last week, but nobody could find fault with you at Circle."

"Well, I never..." Marybeth stammered, torn between annoyance and relief.

Ella clasped her hands together. "Oh, Marybeth, that was tactless of me, wasn't it? I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad--sometimes I talk before I think--actually, lots of times I talk before I think. Everybody tells me so. You're not angry, are you?"

Marybeth looked at Ella and saw contrition and sincerity in her face.

"No, I'm not angry," Marybeth said gently.

"Whew, I'm so glad. I think we'd make good friends, once we get to know each other. And wait until you meet Jenny Whiting. She's my best friend. But she's gone for a couple weeks with her family on vacation. She'll want to meet you, too. So what's the baby's name?" Ella asked as she tossed the ball back to the little boy and held out her hands to take her.

Marybeth carefully handed her to Ella. "Christina."

"That's a lovely name. Oh, don't worry; I've held babies before. Our maid, Prissy, has a baby. Well, not really a baby, not anymore. Let me think. Is Edward two years old?"

Marybeth nodded.

"I thought so. Lanie is two and she looks about as big as he is and I carry her around all the time. So what was I saying? Oh yes--anyway, we live in that big mansion on Peachtree Street. Mother says the style is Swiss Chalet, and she had it built, so I guess she ought to know. My stepfather goes away on business a lot and my big brother is in Europe on his Grand Tour for another three weeks so it's just Mother and me in the house right now. Sometimes it gets lonely just the two of us, but Jenny and I have lots of friends and we always think of something diverting to do. Did I tell you that Jenny's cousin Albert has been calling on me?"

"No, I don't think you did," said Marybeth, starting to get rather dizzy.

"Well, he has," Ella said with a sly wink. "He's a wonderful beau, very romantic. Sends me flowers and letters and he dances divinely. Of course it's not too serious. He hasn't actually _told_ me he loves me."

"I see," Marybeth said, vaguely.

"So, what about your people?" Ella asked abruptly.

Marybeth looked strained. "Not much to tell. Just Joe and I and we really didn't have much family," she mumbled.

"Land sakes, was I tactless again? I'm so sorry."

Marybeth waved off her apology with a shake of her head.

"It's getting late," Ella said, handing Christina back to Marybeth. "I'm so glad we got this chance to _really talk_."

Marybeth smiled, amused. Ella had _really_ done most of the _talking_.

"I'd like to come visit again," Ella continued. "Or you can come visit me. We have the only Swiss Chalet on Peachtree Street," she grinned mockingly and Marybeth couldn't help laughing, even as she shook her head in reproof. "Next time I'll bring Edward a sucker from Mother's store. Farewell!" Ella gave Marybeth an airy wave as she trotted up the steps and disappeared through the door.

Marybeth had just sat back down with the baby on her lap when the door swung open again and it was Ella.

"Marybeth, come quick! There's somebody I want you to meet."

Marybeth gathered Edward and headed into the house as Ella stood in the doorway beckoning. Leading Marybeth into the parlor, Ella presented her to a prim, stern-looking middle-aged lady who was calling on Mrs. Meade.

"Aunt India, this is Marybeth Dandridge, an acquaintance of mine," Ella said in her dignified voice.

Marybeth thought Ella was forgetting that this wasn't even her house, but Mrs. Meade only seemed amused--as if she were well used to Ella's ways.

"Aunt India" greeted Marybeth cordially if not warmly but Ella was already inching towards the door. Marybeth walked her out.

"She's not really my aunt, you know," said Ella as they stood on the front porch. "She's...my brother's...father's...Oh you see, Mother was married _three times_. First to my brother's father, second to mine. That's why we have different last names. Where was I?"

Marybeth shook her head helplessly.

Ella put her finger to her mouth, then, "Now I remember. Aunt India is my brother's father's cousin. There--I got it right!"

Marybeth nodded politely, waved Ella goodbye and was absolutely convinced that never in her life would she be able to remember all that.

Later that night after she'd put Christina down, Marybeth sat with Edward in her lap and told him a fairy story. Now that he was two he rarely wanted to sit on her lap anymore--he wanted to run around, play, and get into mischief. But late at night when he was tired and ready for sleep, he would climb into Mama's lap and let her cuddle him and be her little baby again.

She rested her cheek against his curls, telling the story of Jack the Giant Slayer complete with different voices. She never held him without feeling a maternal thrill go through her and a deep thankfulness that she had him, safe and healthy.

The farmer's wife who took her in before Edward was born taught Marybeth how to collect eggs, milk cows and care for children--for they were a large and growing family, and all the children were under the age of 12. This was a new experience for Marybeth; her father, Sean Patrick Brodie, was a moderately prosperous banker and she had grown up "in town". But she learned quickly and was fairly contented with her situation. From eating regular wholesome meals again she gained weight and lost the thinness in her face and arms. And while she was busy, the weeks passed quickly.

Then tragedy struck.

Marybeth was eight months along when the oldest son of the house was killed in a hunting accident while he was out his father. Wild with grief and remorse, the father turned to hard liquor for relief. He had always been pleasant enough sober, but he turned ugly when drunk, throwing things, making cruel or coarse remarks, rampaging and threatening. Marybeth learned to keep herself and the children out of his way when he behaved like that.

When her time came, she was attended by the farmer's wife and a neighbor lady who had a reputation as a skilled midwife. Labor was long and difficult, but at the end of it all Edward was born healthy and Marybeth hadn't lost _too_ much blood.

She recovered quickly and tried to help the kind wife who had helped her so much and who now had a drunken husband to try to placate. But his drinking only worsened and then came the night when Marybeth had to take all the children out to the barn--she huddled there with the little ones, Edward clutched in her arms as the farmer broke every dish in the house. If he also proceeded hit his wife, Marybeth never knew. But that night she made a decision and told the wife the next morning--no longer could she continue to allow Edward to be raised in such an atmosphere of violence. No longer would she work for this family. The wife cried and patted Marybeth and wished her all the best. But she didn't ask her to stay. Edward was six weeks old at this time...

**A/N: The hit count is still high—yipee! Comments and reviews are sooo welcome. **


	12. yellow rose 4

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Thank you to everybody who has reviewed so far. And thank you everybody who's read…

They were eating breakfast when a message came for Dr. Meade. He read it, and then announced, "Miss James won't be able to assist me during this morning's office hours."

Miss James was Dr. Meade's trained nurse. She helped in the office, accompanied him on his rounds when he had a case that required an additional pair of hands and sometimes stayed behind with patients who needed extra nursing care.

He frowned. "On most days I could muddle through without her, but today Mr. Lambert will be coming in for his treatment and I need assistance." He scratched his beard, thinking. Then he looked at Marybeth. "Mrs. Meade, could you spare Dandridge for an hour or so?"

Accordingly, later that morning, Marybeth rode in to the office with Dr. Meade and he proceeded to give her a few quick instructions. "Anybody who walks in, write down their name and their complaint in this book, here. When they are finished and they pay you, write their name and the amount in that other book, then lock the money in this box. Here are the keys. This key is for the moneybox and this one is for the cabinet behind you. If anybody comes in for a preparation, you'll find the parcel all wrapped up with their name clearly printed on it in there. Be sure you note the name of the person who picked it up, and the amount they paid. I'll call you in to assist when Mr. Lambert arrives. You understand?"

Marybeth nodded and sat in the chair behind the desk as Dr. Meade went into his back rooms. While she was waiting for patients to arrive, she spied a large medical tome and thumbed through it, fascinated by the anatomical diagrams and descriptions of the diseases. She turned it to the front and tried to read it from the first page, but so many of the words were unfamiliar to her. She turned around in her chair and saw a medical dictionary. Then she thumbed through that--it also had pictures. She tried to read the medical text using the dictionary. It helped a little bit, but to her frustration she found that some of the definitions themselves included long medical words. So for quite some time, Marybeth sat, trying to read, thumbing back and forth between the books and becoming entirely absorbed in the world of illness and disease.

The bell rang on the door and Marybeth looked up to see a young man enter. He was tall and blond; he walked up to her and smiled a deceptively drowsy smile.

"I'm picking up a preparation for Miss India Wilkes. I'm her nephew, Beau Wilkes."

Marybeth nodded, pulled out the ledger and placed it on top of the medical books and stood up to open the cabinet.

"You're new in town, aren't you?" He asked conversationally.

"Yes."

"And you work for the Meades?"

Marybeth selected the parcel marked "India Wilkes". She wanted to ask him what business was it of his whom she worked for, but she merely said, "Yes I do."

"How do you like Atlanta so far?" He asked.

His attitude was a little too familiar for her liking and he was beginning to annoy her. After all, this was a doctor's office, not a sociable. Furthermore, they hadn't even been properly introduced. Did he think she was the type of girl who went around making conversation with strange men? She locked the cabinet and turned around.

"I like it fine, Mr. Wilkes," she said, handing him the little parcel. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you," he said as he handed her the correct amount.

"Good day, Mr. Wilkes," she said, locking the money in the box and recording the transaction in the ledger before turning her attention back to the medical text. She didn't look up when she heard him leave.

Presently another patient arrived, leg in heavy bandages and leaning on a cane. It was Mr. Lambert of the treatment. Marybeth summoned Dr. Meade, who assisted the man to the examination room and had him sit on the table. Then Dr. Meade pulled Marybeth aside.

"This won't be difficult--I'll be giving you directions the whole time. Miss James always washes her hands before helping me--something she learned at that training hospital. You may as well do the same."

Marybeth rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands just like she imagined Miss James must do. Then Dr. Meade showed her which tray to bring with the instruments and bandages. He instructed her to pour a strong-smelling solution from a bottle into a ceramic basin and soak some of the bandages in it, but leave the others dry. Then the treatment began.

Dr. Meade removed the old bandages from the wound and dropped them into a bucket. As soon as the wound was exposed a foul smell wafted around the room, unlike anything Marybeth had ever smelled before, but she schooled her expression into a blank. The treatment had many steps to it and took a long time and she followed the doctor's instructions minutely, but she started to feel clammy perspiration trickling down and the room began to swim. She fought to stay on her feet, but despite her effort she knew she was swaying just a little bit.

Dr. Meade pinned the wrapping on the leg and turned to tell Marybeth to take the bucket to the stove to burn the contents, when he got a good look at her face.

"If you'll excuse us a minute, Mr. Lambert," Dr. Meade said gruffly.

Then he stood up, took the basin and instruments from Marybeth's hands and steered her into the other room by her arm.

"Lay down on that cot, feet up," he ordered her. She didn't need any convincing. She nearly dropped onto it, putting her feet on a hard cushion, then he waved smelling salts under her nose even though she cringed at the odor. He felt her pulse.

"You stay here. I'll escort the patient out," he instructed her.

She was feeling a little better when he came back, and he pulled up a chair next to her.

"One of the first rules in medicine is never to let the patient know that you are disturbed by anything you see or hear. You have to show compassion, not disgust."

"Oh, Dr. Meade, I tried to hide it, truly."

"I know you did, Dandridge, your expression was pleasant enough, but you were white as a sheet of paper."

With that, he felt her wrist and her forehead, before he allowed her to sit up.

"How do you do it Doctor? How do you look at sights like that all day without being disturbed by it?"

"Well, child, some of it comes from practice--you get used to seeing such things and they don't bother you anymore. But mostly it comes from remembering that the patient is depending on you to make them well. When you remember that, and you keep that idea first, it gets easier to put aside your own personal feelings so you can be a good doctor."

"Next time I'll do better, I promise." He nodded at her, admiring her persistence. He had wondered if she would try to beg off if the need for her arose again.

Later that same day, Ella, who was going for a ramble along the trails, laughed so hard her mare startled and she had to reassure her with a gentle pat. "So she froze you out, did she?"

"Ella, she froze me so badly I'll never thaw."

"Well, Beau, it only serves you right, trying to spark widows."

"Sparking widows! I only tried to be friendly with her because I knew she works for the Meades. And Aunt India said you were acquainted with her."

"I am. And she's a dear girl, but Beau, her heart is in the grave. I talked to her and I know. I mentioned her dear departed and she got an awful downcast look and mumbled something I could barely hear."

"How could I know that? After all, she wasn't wearing black or gray or white or whatever fool colors ladies wear when they're in mourning. And I tell you, I wasn't trying to spark her."

"Cheer up, Beau. I'm sure that after she knows you better she'll actually smile at you some day."

With that they came to a fork in the trail.

"Should we take the long way back or the short way?" He asked

"Mmm..." She paused, checking her watch that was attached to the jacket of her riding habit. "Better make it the short way. Albert said he was going to call on me today."

Beau nodded and turned his horse onto the short trail. Next to Cousin Wade Hampton, Ella was his best friend. And this past year, while Wade was away in Europe for his Grand Tour, Beau and Ella had become even closer.

Beau remembered when they were all little children, and he and Wade did everything in their power to avoid playing with Ella and with Cousin Bonnie, who he only dimly remembered now. But then an accident took Bonnie's life and illness took his mother's life, leaving the three remaining children, connected by blood and marriage, to the somewhat indifferent care of Scarlett Butler. Ella was still the little tag-along, a barely tolerated nuisance to both boys. But then one day, a year after his mother's death, Beau sat alone in the stable, crying over his grief for her, and ashamed of his own weakness. Little Ella had stolen in quietly. Unknown to Beau, she drew closer and closer to him until she was sitting quietly on the hay next to him. Somehow she had understood not to ask a bunch of silly questions about the whys and wherefores of his tears. She merely slipped her hand into his and held it until he was finished. Then she departed, kissing his cheek before she did so. And best of all, she never brought up the incident again. From that time she had been in his confidence more and more frequently until he was almost as comfortable with her as he was with Wade Hampton. After all, she was pretty good sort, for a girl.

But for the last year, Beau had been harboring a secret--a dream he hadn't shared with either Wade Hampton or Ella. And it had nothing to do with sparking icy widows. He had been somewhat dismayed when he saw an obstacle to his dream; an obstacle in the form of Albert Whiting as a frequent caller at the mansion. However, he hadn't been entirely discouraged because, after all, Albert was going to the University of Maryland and wouldn't be home again until Christmas. But Beau was only going as far as the University of Georgia and he planned to be home as many weekends as he could manage. And all was fair in love and war. It wasn't that he had anything against Albert personally, but three was definitely a crowd...

oOoOoOo

That night, Marybeth was sitting in the parlor with one of Dr. Meade's old medical texts that she found in the shelves across her lap, reading intently. _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, which she had been reading, was on the table next to her, forgotten.

Dr. Meade came in and was amused when he saw her choice of reading material.

"Do you really find an old medical book interesting?" He teased, sitting in the chair next to her.

"Yes," she said. "I never realized how complicated the body is--or how many parts it has. Did you really learn everything in this book?"

"Learned it? Yes, under the stern tutelage of my professors. But did I remember all of it after I graduated?" His eyes twinkled. "I remembered the most important things, I hope."

She looked at him, impressed. "I don't understand most of it. Actually, I've been looking at the pictures and diagrams more than reading the text. But there's a whole section about bandaging...Dr. Meade, I'm so sorry I almost fainted--and embarrassed, too. But I'm reading up about caring for sick people."

"Can you keep a secret?" He asked.

She nodded, intrigued.

"The first time I saw an operation, back in medical school, I had to be carried out--almost fainted onto the operating table." He smiled kindly at her, and she smiled back at him, conspiratorially.

"I won't tell a soul, I promise," she said solemnly although her eyed danced.

He didn't think he would need her very often--Miss James was quite reliable. But it was reassuring to know there was another pair of hands available if necessary. Though sometimes he thought what he really needed was to go into partnership with another doctor. After all, he wasn't getting younger.

**A/N: And so, let the romantic intrigue begin…**

**Feedback is really helpful. I know you're reading—Big Brother Hit Count told me so. Let me know what you think. It doesn't have to be anything elaborate, just let me what you like, what you think there should be more of or less of, whatever. **


	13. yellow rose 5

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Naturally, I appreciate reviews. Thank you to the dear people who have written them. You know who you are--and so do I!**

"Are these for me? Oh, Albert, they're beautiful!" Ella exclaimed, gazing at the bouquet of pink roses she held in her hands.

"You deserve them," Albert Whiting answered gallantly. "I only wish I could do more."

Ella and Albert were standing on the veranda of the mansion in the twilight, saying their goodbyes before he left for University.

"I wrote this for you, too," he added.

"Oh Albert."

"It's just a little sonnet--no don't read it while I'm here," he said, blushing.

She sighed dreamily and tucked it into her sash. Then she shifted the bouquet to one hand so she could take his arm and they strolled together out into the meticulously kept gardens. Ella sniffed her bouquet and looked up at him.

"You're going to have the most wonderful time at University."

"Yes, I suppose so. No, not suppose--I intend to. I want to work hard, Ella, learn as much as I can."

"Have you decided your major study?"

He looked downcast. "No, I still can't decide. I just know I want to be able to make a good living for...someday..." He let that thought trail off, but Ella thrilled to the world of possibility in the word "someday".

They sat down together on one of the iron benches and looked out over the fountain.

"I won't be back until the Christmas Holidays. It seems like forever."

Ella nodded sadly.

"I wish...oh, Ella, I wish I could--well--," he said vehemently before he broke off, blushing, but he took her free hand.

Ella's heart beat wildly. He seemed to be on the verge of saying--or doing--something...She turned her face up to his invitingly but he didn't seem to notice. Instead he kissed her hand and stood up. She walked with him to the front gate and saw him off, sighing with the romance of it all, but then she remembered--three whole months without him! She ran to her room and indulged herself in a good cry. When she dried her tears, she remembered the paper tucked in her sash. She unfolded it and read it, sobbing over every word. It was the most romantic thing she'd ever read--praising her eyes, her voice, her hands. She read it several more times, then shoved it under her pillow. Unable to help herself, she gave herself over to her emotions and sobbed until she fell asleep in a romantic, emotional, hysterical little heap.

The next morning she awoke with a delicious sort of melancholy--by now Albert would be on the train headed for the University of Maryland and away from her. The pathos of that last thought was so affecting she gave over to new spell of weeping as befitted a lonely forsaken heroine.

She ate breakfast alone for Mother was already gone to the store and decided her melancholy mood was too much to be borne all by herself, so she called for Pork to hitch the other carriage and headed to the Whiting home.

Jenny, although freshly home from Saratoga with her own stories she wanted to share, enthusiastically took up the topic of Albert's final parting and the two girls spent a wonderful hour parsing, probing and absolutely shredding that last conversation until Ella, with a vague sense of unease and feeling a little headachy, wondered if there had _ever_ been _any_ meaning in the things she and Albert had said to each other last night. Every word, every inflection, every pause had been discussed. Feeling a little unsatisfied, she took her leave.

Next she tried Virgie Simmons. Virgie also wanted to hear every detail, but when she heard there was a sonnet, she pounced on it, wishing to read it. Then, after reading it several times, she passed it back to Ella and said, "It's lovely dear, but it's not exactly Shakespeare, is it?"

This annoyed Ella even though she knew Virgie had claims of artistic sensibility. But didn't Virgie realize that there were more important things in life than literary perfection? Feeling that this really was the last straw, Ella took her leave politely as soon as she decently could.

A little later at the Meade's home, she and Marybeth sat in a private secluded area of the back yard so Marybeth could nurse Christina unobserved. Ella poured out the whole story and Marybeth patted her hand and said all the things that she wanted to hear. She would have been very satisfied with Marybeth as a confidant except--well, Christina had recently cut a new tooth and was as busy biting as she was nursing and that diverted Marybeth's attention. And Edward _would_ stalk the neighbor's cat that had crept into the Meades' back yard. The little boy chased the wretched animal around and around and frequently let out ear-splitting imitations of the Rebel Yell. Ella would have preferred some peace and quiet for her story telling, but when she hinted as much to Marybeth, she laughed and said, "Oh, Edward's been Yelling ever since you taught him how to do it the last time you were here." Then she looked at Ella slyly.

It was true enough--Ella had come to visit again since that first time right after Circle and she'd thought it would be fun to teach the old war cry to Edward. What she didn't know was that Marybeth had spent a rather trying two days teaching him not to Yell in the house and for heaven's sake not to sneak up on people and Yell, either. Poor Betsy was heard to declare that she would need one of the Doctor's sedatives if the little boy hollered one more time indoors.

And of course it was easy enough for Marybeth to take Ella's romantic predicament lightly. After all, everybody knew some man had wanted _her_.

Back at home, Ella was feeling a little grumpy. Nobody quite seemed to adequately understand the romantic pathos of it all. She wandered aimlessly in the garden for a while before she stopped and leaned on the statue of the iron mastiff, chin resting in her arms. She knew she wasn't really upset with her friends. They all, in their own ways, had listened to her and tried to help. It was something else.

She hadn't wanted to think about it and spoil her romantic mood, but she couldn't escape it nonetheless, and it rankled. As lovely and sentimental as Albert had been, he still hadn't come out and said he loved her, he hadn't asked her to wait for him, and the third thing--

He hadn't tried to kiss her.

Of course, Ella reasoned, it wouldn't be very ladylike for her to be chasing after him for kisses, and if he had attempted it, she really ought to be offended or at least pretend to be, but still...

She shifted restlessly and stared out over the fountain, not really seeing it.

Into this uncomfortable reverie walked Beau Wilkes.

"I came to see you," he said. "To say goodbye before I leave tomorrow."

"Oh, Beau, I'm so happy you came," she replied. "I don't want to be alone right now."

He suggested a game of croquet and while they played, she poured out the story to him, (omitting the part about how she was disappointed that Albert hadn't kissed her--she didn't want Beau to know her most unladylike thoughts). Beau listened patiently and if he found it painful to listen to her speak sentimentally about Albert Whiting he hid it well. He said the things she wanted to hear and after a decent amount of time he steered her attention away from Albert with funny, diverting stories.

"It's getting dark, Ella," Beau said as he looked up at the twilight sky. "I have to get home to finish packing. The train leaves first thing tomorrow."

Ella looked at her cousin fondly. What a good friend he was, what a good confidant. Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Pulling back a little, she said, "I'm going to miss you something awful, Beau."

Beau looked at her, dazed, as she started to put away the croquet things. He knew it would be foolish to think she'd meant anything more than the type of goodbye a sister might give a brother. However, he could still feel her lips on his cheek and he wished fervently now he'd had the courage to--but no, that wouldn't have been gentlemanly. To cover his confusion he helped her put away the game.

She walked with him to the front gate and Beau hoped...maybe...but her earlier impulsive mood was gone and he was afraid to give her more than the most casual of friendly goodbyes. But as he headed towards his house he decided--he was definitely coming home this very weekend!

oOoOoOo

Marybeth was awakened a couple nights later by the sound of a muffled commotion in the hallway outside her room. She got up, pulling her wrapper around her and slipped into the hall, carefully shutting the door so she wouldn't wake her children. She saw both Meades heading down the stairs. From the top of the stairs she saw Dr. Meade, fully dressed, squeeze his wife's hand and head out the door with some other men--shadowy figures she could barely see.

Dr. Meade was sometimes called on in the middle of the night in the course of duty, but Mrs. Meade never walked him to the door on these occasions. Anxiously, Marybeth went down to join her.

"Marybeth, we didn't want to wake you!"

"Mrs. Meade, what is it?"

The older woman sighed heavily. "There's a fire--in the row of buildings where Dr. Meade's office is. He went to see what could be saved."

"How bad?"

"We don't know--those men didn't know, either. They own businesses in that row and came to tell him--they all went to investigate together."

Marybeth shook her head, then led the older woman to the kitchen and sat her down. Then she bustled about, fixing coffee and gathering cups.

"Whut's all dis fuss in de middle o' de night?"

Mrs. Meade shook her head. "We didn't mean to wake you Betsy. There's been a fire at Dr. Meade's office."

"Lawd ha' mercy," she exclaimed.

The three women waited anxiously during the next couple hours for any word. At last a dejected-looking Dr. Meade entered and Mrs. Meade pulled him into a chair while Betsy pushed a cup of coffee to him.

"It's all gone, Mrs. Meade. The building, all my books, most of the patients' records, my instruments and furniture--all gone."

Mrs. Meade looked at him sorrowfully and put a hand on his arm while he sat pensively staring at nothing in particular. Marybeth and Betsy looked at each other in dismay.

Then Dr. Meade looked into his wife's stricken face and took her hand gently. "But we've been through worse things than this, haven't we? We survived then and we'll survive now."

Marybeth looked away. This was a tone of voice she had never heard him use before and she instinctively knew it was the voice he used with Mrs. Meade when they were alone. She decided to go back to bed and leave them in peace, and accordingly she stood up and started to clear the cups from the table. Betsy also seemed to have the same idea, and they worked silently together.

"It's also good to keep in mind, Mrs. Meade, that this happened at night and nobody got hurt."

Mrs. Meade nodded.

"And it's only the office that was destroyed. We still have our home, we still have our money in the bank."

Mrs. Meade tried to smile for him.

The kitchen was cleaned and she and Betsy made their exits. Marybeth was halfway down the hallway to the stairs when she heard Dr. Meade say," Thank heaven the office is insured."

News of the fire spread almost as quickly as the fire itself and the Meade household was inundated with callers and well-wishers the next day. Many of them brought food ("almost as if somebody had died", Marybeth thought), but she and Betsy were still kept busy making coffee and tea for the ladies and keeping the brandy decanter full for the men. It was strange, Marybeth thought, having men in the house during the day, for the household was strictly feminine before the supper hour; limited to the women of the household and their afternoon lady callers.

As Marybeth made trips to the doctor's study with the refilled decanter, she was aware that she was the target of a few appreciative looks from the younger men of Dr. Meade's acquaintance. But she ignored them in her most cool, dignified manner. The two or three who tried to engage her in conversation were frozen out as thoroughly as Beau Wilkes had been. As for Beau, home for the weekend, who came to make a courtesy call on the doctor, he did nothing more than nod gravely to her and he received an equally serious nod in return.

Ella came with Mrs. Butler, but she and Marybeth didn't have time for more than a few quick words alone. There were other ladies, too. Mrs. Merriwether, of course, Mrs. Picard, Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Wellburn. Miss India Wilkes brought Miss Pittypat and another lady. But before proper introductions could be done, Ella stepped in and introduced the new lady to Marybeth as "Aunt Honey", then proceeded to explain to the tangled thread of relationship between them. Marybeth tried to follow, but she only wound up with a faint headache even as she was amused at the funny nicknames the women in that family seemed to wind up with.

**A/N And now for the focus to shift once again as more of the younger people take their place on the stage--and naturally, more Scarlett...But what about Rhett? You're just going to have to read and find out.**


	14. honeysuckle 1

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**And the focus shifts once again. Or more precisely, it's like a camera pulling back to reveal more of the picture. Rhett and Wade make their first "live" appearances and the web of relationships in Atlanta becomes more tangled.**

**BTW, I don't think the gender of Fanny Wellburn's baby was ever mentioned. I made it a girl. If somebody knows for a fact that it was a boy, then we'll just call this part of the story AU. (But let me know so I can add it to my store of Windie trivia.)**

It was a warm, sunny afternoon when Scarlett and Ella stood on the platform awaiting the arrival of the train that would bring both Wade Hampton and Rhett to Atlanta. As it worked out, both men's arrivals had coincided and while that meant less upheaval for the household, Scarlett had wanted to greet Rhett separately from Wade, hoping, always hoping this time would be different...

The train pulled in and Scarlett strained to see through the smoke and the crowd but she couldn't see any sign of either one until Ella grabbed her arm, pointing.

"There, Mother, look there." And she took Scarlett's hand as she pushed their way forward.

When Rhett stepped down onto the platform Scarlett held out her hand, which he shook cordially.

"Welcome home, Rhett," she said smiling, her tone carefully light.

"Scarlett, you're looking well." He let go of her and moved to greet Ella who was talking excitedly to her brother several paces away.

Scarlett felt an unpleasant tightening in her stomach at his oh-so-casual greeting but pushed the feeling back. Falling in beside Rhett she remarked, "I am looking forward to hearing all about your trip."

Rhett looked sideways at her and his lip curled down. "Wade has been gone a whole year. Maybe you should ask about his trip first."

The knot in Scarlett's stomach got tighter at his high-handed correction of her, but she pretended not to understand the implication. He had always accused her of being a poor mother.

To hide the pain in her heart, she greeted her son who was busy talking to his sister. Wade turned to her and she looked into his face, surprised.

This wasn't the pink-cheeked college boy who'd left home a year ago. Traveling through Europe, learning new languages and meeting new people had matured Wade and he now looked like a young man. How adult he seemed to Scarlett! And how like Charlie--nice looking with brown eyes and brown hair that had a tendency to curl. But Wade had a certain gravity of demeanor that Charlie had never quite had.

"Hello, Mother," he said, smiling. "You look wonderful."

"Welcome back, Wade Hampton."

They hugged a little awkwardly. Scarlett had never been given to physical displays of affection towards her children, but Wade would never dream of refusing to embrace his mother no matter how unexpected it was.

In the carriage, Wade listened to Ella catch him up on the latest Atlanta gossip--all the engagements, courtships, births and deaths--while Rhett listened in amusement and Scarlett surreptitiously studied Rhett.

It galled her that he wouldn't kiss her cheek or even her hand in greeting. It was bad enough that he did this at home, but to act like this in a public place like the train station was particularly galling.

Gall. Bitterness. This was a new emotion for Scarlett. Or at least, she thought it was new. She didn't rightly know when it started--

In the months and years following Melanie's death, when Scarlett thought back to hers and Rhett's conversation, she had to concede that Rhett was right. Scarlett had said hateful things and refused to recognize Rhett's love. And overwhelmed with grief and desolate loneliness as she was, she had been like soft, malleable clay, willing to accept anything Rhett said. Left alone with nothing solid to grasp on to anymore, she had tried to grasp Rhett, but he wouldn't allow it.

But eventually as the months and years passed, without her noticing it, she was regaining her inner strength--her ability to shoulder the burden.

It was probably about a year ago when she first recognized it. It had been after a particularly trying visit from Rhett where he had been especially cold to her. As she watched him leave for the train she realized that she actually felt a sense of profound relief. Then she felt horrified--this was Rhett, the greatest love of her life! How could she be relieved that he was leaving once again?

But it was true. She was sad and ready to sink down with weariness. Weary of forever acting the way he wanted her to. Weary of forever stifling her own true feelings and putting on a smile when she wanted to weep and rage. Weary of forever doing things Rhett's way.

Fast on the heels of this thought came an enormous, all-encompassing bitterness that shocked her with its intensity. She was sick and tired of Rhett!

The thought was so new that she'd fled to her room and sat down at her vanity table, clutching the seat with both hands as she swayed back and forth, completely stunned. She tried desperately to push this new, treacherous thought aside, but one by one little uncomfortable questions started creeping into her mind. Why was she still accepting as true everything he told her that night? After all--hadn't he been fully aware of her infatuation with Ashley but married her anyway? And how was she supposed to know in the aftermath of her miscarriage that he had been waiting for her to call for him? Rhett never had a miscarriage--came the rebellious thought--he didn't know what it was like. Maybe--just maybe--it _had_ beena little too much to expect that a person sick with delirium should ask for just one particular person? Scarlett had been a nurse during the War. She knew how unpredictable delirium could be. Maybe Rhett wasn't so fair-minded after all? And if he wasn't---

Was Rhett really worth all this pain?

This very last thought frightened her so badly that she bounced up and raced downstairs as fast as she could, grabbed the brandy bottle from the dining room, and ran back upstairs, ignoring Ella's startled face peering from her bedroom and not caring if Pork and the other servants did know. Locking the door behind her she opened the bottle and drank glass after glass until she was calm enough to go to sleep.

She awoke the next day with a tremendous headache that diverted her attention from her heart ache, and by the time she was feeling like herself again, she was back to accepting the entire blame for the debacle of her marriage. At least on the outside.

But it was to no avail. Despite what she was trying to tell herself about her own guilt, the fact was she had changed deep down inside. In the interval between that visit and now he had been to Atlanta a couple more times. She looked forward to his visits with grim, determined, enthusiasm; turned herself inside out to try to please him when he was there; and afterward the bitterness grew just a little bit more. And each time it took just a little more brandy to make it go away.

And now Scarlett sat across from her husband, deliberately pushing all thoughts of disappointment over his greeting of her away because she didn't want bitterness to show on her face. She still hoped to win him back and she didn't want him to know that he had _this_ much power over her...

When they returned to the mansion the servants were waiting to greet Wade and Rhett and the family all sat down for supper together.

"This time tomorrow, son, you'll be a full-fledged lawyer," said Rhett casually.

"What?" Said Scarlett shocked.

"I'm starting tomorrow at Stewart and Morris, Mother," said Wade Hampton proudly.

"But--" Scarlett looked at both men. This was news to her, but Rhett clearly had known. And he seemed to think it a source of amusement that she didn't know. "Wade Hampton, you arrived home _today_!"

"How observant Scarlett, but today's Sunday and the office wouldn't be open, now would it?" Rhett drawled.

Wade looked uncomfortable with Rhett's sarcasm, but Ella just raised an eyebrow at her stepfather.

"You know that's not what I meant, Rhett," Scarlett fought to be calm. "Wade, are you sure you want to start work right away?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Wade answered.

"But--" Scarlett started again, but Rhett interrupted.

"Wade is a grown man, dear wife. Let him make his own decisions."

Scarlett bit back an angry retort and looked around the table. Ella was looking down at her plate, but Wade was looking pleadingly at Rhett.

"Let's talk about this later," Ella said. "Wade, why don't you tell us all about the ruins you saw in Switzerland?"

Wade and Rhett both looked at her with amusement at her ignorance, but at least the mood was lightened and the rest of dinner proceeded in peace.

oOoOoOo

Beau ambled over to spend an hour with his cousins before his train was due to leave that night.

The three young people walked out to the paddock and watched the horses while they talked.

"How was Europe, Wade?" Beau asked.

"It's too bad you couldn't have seen it with me. You would have appreciated the cathedrals and museums. And the architecture--so old! Nothing like it in America. Everything here is so new. And the landscapes..."

"Did you draw some pictures, Wade?" Ella asked, bored and a little sarcastic.

"Please pardon my little sister--the Philistine..."

"Philistine! Me??"

"I filled several sketchbooks and I'll show them to _you_, Beau when we have more time."

"You should have stayed in Europe for a few more years and filled a whole trunk full of sketchbooks," Ella said sullenly.

"One year was long enough," replied Wade quietly and Beau looked at him understandingly.

"I guess Ella told you about the fire that destroyed Dr. Meade's office?" Beau asked, changing the subject.

Wade nodded.

"Father says they still haven't determined what caused it--and they can't rebuild until they do. The insurance company is insisting that a cause be found before anybody gets their money."

"How does Uncle Ashley know all that?"

"He was talking to Dr. Meade one day."

"The Meades have a new hired girl," Ella piped up. "Named Marybeth Dandridge. I like her--she's funny."

"Not very friendly," Beau said.

"You're wrong, Beau, you just don't know her yet. Jenny Whiting liked her."

Beau looked over at Wade and mouthed _cold_ but Ella saw it and slapped his arm playfully.

"I'm going to go in the house now," she said. "I have better things to do than stand here and be contradicted. Besides, I know you want to talk without a _girl_ around." She winked at Beau and trotted off towards the veranda.

They watched her go before they turned their attention back to the horses.

"Ella was telling me about the latest courtships and engagements..." Wade paused, expectantly, not looking at Beau.

"Elsie Wellburn isn't engaged yet. Or found a favorite among her beaux, either," Beau replied.

Wade nodded slowly, feeling relieved. "Four years in University, one year abroad. It was time to come _home_."

Beau didn't quite know what to say. Wade's devotion to Elsie Wellburn was the reason he hadn't stayed longer overseas even though everybody had encouraged him to. Everybody except Beau, that is. He understood why Wade cut his Tour short, and even though he didn't agree with Wade's decision, he kept silent about it.

Wade leaned against the fence rail and thought about Elsie. She was the daughter of Fanny Wellburn nee Elsing and her late husband, Tommy Wellburn. She was the most beautiful girl Wade had ever seen, with golden blond hair, china blue eyes and magnolia skin. She was also sweet and dear, so vivacious and outgoing! Wade had been devoted to her for the last few years.

"I know I don't have a serious chance to make her love me, but I couldn't stay away, either," he murmured. There was no self-pity or bitterness in that remark, just a calm appraisal of the situation.

"Wade, I never tried to tell you not to come home early."

"I know. And I thank you. But do you know something? It's strange that she and Ella were never friends. They're both the same age, they both lost their fathers during the Reconstruction days," Wade mused.

"They're very different in their temperaments," Beau pointed out.

It was true. But Wade still suspected the fault might lie more with Ella, because she'd found room in her wide circle of friends for all sorts of people, never even pausing to consider such things as gender or race or class; but Elsie was not to be found among her friends. Perhaps the problem was a natural female dislike of any other female who was popular with men. Elsie certainly had her share of beaux; she was always in the middle of a circle of admirers at any party. Maybe his sister was jealous. But Elsie couldn't help it. She was so pretty and lively that men were naturally attracted to her. He remembered minutely every detail of the few times she had singled him out to flirt or dance with. He was terribly shy around girls and could never think of gallant, courtly things to say to her while he had her to himself, but she was more than capable of flirting for the both of them.

Wade stayed out in the paddock long after his cousin left. He climbed up to the top rail and flung his head back, turning his face up to the sky. He sat and simply breathed in the air of home. He was conscious of an exciting sense of expectation. He didn't know precisely what he expected, but he heart-glad to be back in Atlanta with his life ahead of him like a blank book waiting to be filled. He was sitting and imagining the possibilities when Rhett found him.

"Thinking about tomorrow, son?"

"Yes, Uncle Rhett. Tomorrow and all the other tomorrows. Like a big adventure waiting to happen."

"Surely _all_ your adventures aren't in the future. You must have done something worth looking back on in Europe."

"Naturally. But that was different. That wasn't home. That wasn't my real life. I didn't really belong there. Everybody was gracious and welcoming, you understand, but they all seemed so..."

"Sophisticated?"

"Cynical."

"Are you telling me the glittering social life of London and Paris and Rome were not to your liking?" Rhett seemed amused.

Wade got a faraway look. "Sometimes, Uncle Rhett, it seemed like everybody around me was play-acting. Playing at love, playing at gallantry. But nobody seemed to mean it deep down."

"And that disappointed you?"

Wade nodded.

"So no grand love affairs with beautiful European women?" Rhett grinned slyly at him.

Wade looked away but tried to match the other man's lighthearted tone. "You always taught me that a gentleman never kisses and tells, Uncle Rhett."

Rhett stopped teasing him then, but he felt a bit of annoyance. The boy was still infatuated with that Elsie Wellburn, and with his provincial ideals of love and fidelity he wouldn't have wanted to do anything to besmirch that tender emotion.

And so it went. Wade had been true to Elsie. He didn't want to do anything that would make himself unworthy of a girl like her. Accordingly, he didn't visit the bordellos like his traveling companions or pick up a mistress or two along the way. He didn't care if his friends teased him--Elsie's was the only opinion he cared about, even though he wouldn't be able to tell her what he'd given up for her sake.

**Hoped you liked it. This chapter was longer than I originally planned, so I chopped it in two. Next half to follow shortly!**


	15. honeysuckle 2

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**And the focus shifts once again. Or more precisely, it's like a camera pulling back to reveal more of the picture. Rhett and Wade make their first "live" appearances and the web of relationships in Atlanta becomes more tangled.**

**BTW, I don't think the gender of Fanny Wellburn's baby was ever mentioned. I made it a girl. If somebody knows for a fact that it was a boy, then we'll just call this part of the story AU. (But let me know so I can add it to my store of Windie trivia.)**

Scarlett wasn't able to sleep that night and she paced the floor of her bedroom before she took herself down the hall to her son's room. She knocked on his door and he called her to enter. He was already in bed, a book spread open on his lap. Scarlett sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you sure you want to start working tomorrow?" She started without preamble. "Don't you want to rest a while first?"

"Don't you think a year in Europe is rest enough?" He asked dryly.

"But you just got home. Why would you want to rush into working?"

He folded his hands over his book. "Mother, this past year was wonderful--so many amazing things. Do you know, I never realized just how big the world is? And Europe is so old, so cultured. I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything, but at the same time, I feel like my whole life has been spent waiting for life to really start." He straightened up and looked past her. "I want to start living, earning my own money, starting the adventure for real! Who knows what the next big adventure will be, but I want to be there for it. I don't know the things I'll do or the people I'll meet, but I'm tired of waiting. I want to begin right away. Or actually, tomorrow."

Then he laughed a little, blushing and Scarlett stared at him with astonishment. Never had it been Wade's way to confide his secret thoughts to her and never had she seen him so vehement. He seemed to have had the same thought, because he looked away from her, embarrassed. She felt a little heart sore that he would be ashamed to talk to her like this, but she couldn't blame him. It had never been her habit to encourage confidences from her children.

The next day, Wade Hampton Hamilton arrived bright and early to the law firm and was given his first client. Dr. Meade, who had found trying to collect from his insurance company to be more difficult than he had originally imagined, had turned to recourse of lawyers. They sent Wade.

In due time, he arrived at the Meade's, rang the bell and waited. After what seemed to be an unusually long time, the door opened to reveal a rather harassed-looking young lady with a fussy baby on her hip who seemed bent on chewing through her mother's arm. But the lady's face was carefully polite and his hat was off immediately.

"Good morning, I'm Wade Hampton Hamilton with the firm of Stewart and Morris. I'm here to see Dr. Meade."

"Right this way, please," she answered and turned to lead him down the hallway. Peeking out from behind her skirts was a little boy who peered at him curiously.

_This must be Marybeth Dandridge_, Wade thought. After meeting her today, he was inclined to agree with Beau's opinion of her. She didn't speak a word to him above ordinary politeness and her manner was very formal. Not that Wade was used to girls trying to flirt with him--they usually ended up treating him like a brother. But even Beau, who was accustomed to being the target of languishing looks, had been unable to get a genuine smile from her. Then Marybeth ushered him into the doctor's study.

"Thank you, Dandridge, that will be all," said Dr. Meade.

Marybeth shut the door and herded Edward towards the kitchen. She knew the men would be awhile--long enough to finish feeding Christina. Betsy was laid up with a bad cold today and Marybeth was muddling through without her. Before that lawyer came banging on the door she had set the bread to rise then sat down and started feeding the baby. She had to button up quickly, much to Christina's displeasure, and hurry to the door to answer it. But now Christina could have her full attention again.

That night, over dinner, Mrs. Meade expressed her doubts to her husband. "But don't you think he's just too young? Fresh from his Grand Tour. I doubt he's ever even worked on a case."

"Young, but smart. He graduated second in his class at Harvard, you know. We talked for quite some time, and he explained all the ramifications to me. Besides, Philip Stewart would never let him work on his first case unsupervised. It will be like having one of the partners working on it. But I wish you had been there, listening to him talk. You would have been impressed, too."

Mrs. Meade lapsed into silence then. She had to trust her husband about this. But Dr. Meade changed the subject to one more interesting--the upcoming Presidential election. For it was now fall, the air was cooler and the leaves were changing. And the attention of all the townsmen was focused on the race. Grover Cleveland, a Democrat, was running against James G. Blaine, a Republican, and Mrs. Meade always sided with her husband in politics. Marybeth knew almost nothing about the subject and could care less. She couldn't see how her life was any better or worse for the actions of some man far away in Washington D.C. But her father had been like Dr. Meade, with passionate political opinions. Perhaps, Marybeth thought, if she were allowed to vote, the subject of politics might hold some interest for her. But not only was she too young, she was female.

And as autumn progressed, Dr. Meade's attention shifted between the incident filled political campaign and his lawsuit with the insurance company. Wade Hamilton was a frequent caller to the doctor, but he never tried to engage Marybeth in any sort of conversation and subsequently she never had to freeze him.

Ella and Marybeth were also becoming fast friends during this time, although the burden of visiting fell more heavily on Ella, who after all, wasn't responsible for small children and didn't have all the chores Marybeth had.

oOoOoOo

Wade squinted as he drove his carriage up to the Oakland Cemetery in search of his mother--he had just come from the polls and was on his way back to work and he wanted to deliver a message to her first. But then he saw her with the group of ladies who comprised the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of our Glorious Dead and headed in her direction.

Marybeth was crouched down over a grave, pulling up the weeds and dead annuals. There was a nip in the air, but she was wrapped warmly. If she shivered a little it was because of where she was. She didn't consider herself to be more superstitious than most people, but she wouldn't be here in the cemetery if Mrs. Meade didn't belong to the Association. Marybeth had always thought graveyards were a little uncanny and as she worked she crooned to herself almost silently, the words of the ancient hymn, _Defende nos ab hostibus Jesu agnus dei in te confido_...

"Hand up, Marybeth?"

Startled, Marybeth jumped up and helped Mrs. Meade to her feet. The cool, humid air made the older woman's joints stiff and she wasn't able to arise without help.

Marybeth hadn't seen the carriage pull up, but Mrs. Meade was determined to talk to its occupant. Marybeth only looked long enough to see it was that lawyer, Mr. Hamilton, before she knelt down and resumed her weeding. She was close enough to hear a little of the conversation, but she knew what Mrs. Meade was going to say.

"Mrs. Meade, with all due respect, I'm afraid I can't discuss the case with you," he was saying in dignified, professional tones.

"Now listen here, Wade Hampton Hamilton, I've known you since you were just a little baby..."

"I am aware of that Mrs. Meade, but professional ethics forbid me..."

Marybeth thought she heard a hint of patient humor in his voice. Mrs. Meade was still dubious about letting a new, inexperienced lawyer handle her husband's case. She must have tried to glean information from him before this. Marybeth continued her weeding.

But then she looked up again when she saw Ella hurrying to the carriage, too. She shook her head in amusement. Ella would use any excuse to stop working.

"Why did you smile?" Jenny Whiting asked. Ella had introduced the two girls and Marybeth had taken an immediate liking to the smart, levelheaded Jenny. Today she was working alongside Marybeth.

Marybeth chuckled. "Does Ella know _everybody_ in Atlanta?"

Jenny replied, "She should know _him_. That's her brother."

Marybeth sat back on her heels and pushed a stray curl away from her face with her forearm. "The Meades' lawyer is Ella's brother?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"I'm surprised, too," said Marybeth, looking over at the carriage. "Of course, I only met him at the Meades'. Come to think of it, he was never there when she was."

"And besides," Jenny said with a grin and a wink, "Ella's explanations of her family connections can get a little, well, complicated."

Marybeth smiled back at the other girl and peered over at the little group by the carriage. Mr. Hamilton certainly didn't look anything like Ella. Funny how neither of Mrs. Butler's children really looked like her. Marybeth's own children resembled Marybeth. Or at least she tried to minimize in her own mind any resemblance they had to their fathers.

She didn't realize she was staring until Wade, suddenly conscious of her fixed regard, glanced at her and looked away quickly, embarrassed. Then Marybeth, appalled at herself for staring, busied herself weeding. But she continued with her reverie...

When she left the farm where Edward was born it was early summer and she pushed westward. Drifting with a small baby was an entirely different experience than drifting alone. She still kept the knife in her boot, but she never needed to use it to defend herself. The towns were smaller and farther apart and opportunities for work or pick pocketing were increasingly scarce. But the people were friendlier and more willing to help a lone traveler. At any rate, she managed to survive until she found work again as a farm hand. It was another large family, but this time the children were older--ranging in age from older than herself on down to one little toddler. She was happy there--she made friends her own age and met William, her first real sweetheart. But then complications entered her life again, in the form of a young man named Alex who would become Christina's father. Marybeth could never think about Alex without a sense of sadness and deep shame. For as much as she wanted to cast most of the blame on him for what happened that week, she knew quite well that she herself had behaved very badly...

She didn't realize she was crooning _kyrie eleison, christe eleison, kyrie eleison_...

Mrs. Meade came back and crouched down next to Marybeth. "The election results are coming in--Cleveland is in the lead."

Marybeth nodded at her and smiled. "That will make the Doctor happy."

**Hoped you liked it. This chapter was longer than I originally planned, so I chopped it in two. Coming up next, more romantic intrigue!**


	16. honeysuckle 3

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**A/N: I've been informed that Fanny Wellburn's baby's gender was never stated by Margaret Mitchell. And the prayer Marybeth was saying at the graveyard translates to "Defend us from our enemies Jesus lamb of God we trust in you." (somebody asked) I love writing for you guys! **

Saturday night after the election results were known Marybeth was sewing with Mrs. Meade and Betsy when there was a knock at the door. Marybeth opened the door to see Ella and Jenny standing there, dressed warmly.

"There's going to be a bonfire at the Wellburns' and this time you're coming with us, " said Ella.

There had been a rash of parties celebrating the election but so far Marybeth had avoided going to any of them, much to Ella's disgust.

"Oh. Well, thank you. But I simply couldn't, you see, I..." Marybeth said, taking a step back to let them into the foyer.

"But it will be such _fun_! _Everybody's_ going," entreated Ella.

"Yes, but I don't know everybody."

"We'll introduce you," offered Jenny.

"They'll love you!" Said Ella.

Marybeth doubted that, but said nothing.

"Edward and Christina are in bed, aren't they?" Asked Ella.

"Yes, but I really need to stay here..."

At this, Ella resorted to threats. "If you don't come with us willingly, Jenny and I will each take an arm and drag you, and think how embarrassed you will be to show up at the Wellburn's being _dragged_."

"You wouldn't dare," said Marybeth uncertainly.

"We would, too," said Jenny, siding with Ella.

"But the Meades'..." objected Marybeth, trying to stop the inevitable.

Ella sidestepped Marybeth and walked into the parlor. "Mrs. Meade?"

Mrs. Meade, who had heard most of the exchange at the doorway, looked up, eyes twinkling. "Yes, Ella."

"Would you please allow Marybeth to go with us to the Wellburns' bonfire? Mrs. Wellburn and Mrs. Elsing and will be there to chaperone, and we promise we won't stay out so very late."

"Of course, Ella. Marybeth, I want you to bundle up warmly."

"But Mrs. Meade, what about the babies?" Marybeth objected.

"Are you referring to those babies asleep upstairs? Betsy and I aren't so old that we can't manage two sleeping children between us, I daresay. Now, go!"

Sighing with defeat, Marybeth went to get her wraps with the other two girls trailing behind her.

"I never dreamed you were this shy, Marybeth," said Ella with amusement.

"I'm not shy," retorted Marybeth, bristling a little. "I just feel nervous around new people," she continued lamely as the two girls went into peals of laughter.

"Well," said Jenny, wiping tears from her eyes, "as long as you're not _shy_..."

Jenny's brother Joe, who was driving, assisted the girls into the Whiting carriage, and they headed for the Wellburns'. On the way, Ella and Jenny kept a constant stream of chatter directed to Marybeth.

"Isn't it funny how sometimes the best parties are the ones that_ just happen_? I mean not planned weeks in advance," Ella explained.

"We played Change Seats at the Simmons' party the other night, Marybeth..." related Jenny.

"...And Virgie thought she was sitting down on a chair but she fell in between two of the chairs, right onto the floor..." Ella interrupted.

"...But she didn't look too sorry when Frankie Bonnell ever so gallantly helped her to her feet," Continued Jenny with a rather mocking air.

"Of course, you would have known this story already if you had come with us, Marybeth," said Ella said reproachfully.

Marybeth just shrugged, but Ella squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you're coming with us this time."

They arrived at the Wellburns' and paid their respects to Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Wellburn before heading out back to the bonfire. Neither older lady expressed any surprise to see Marybeth there with Ella. Ella's eccentric taste in friends was too well known.

"There's hard cider available for the gentlemen and tea and coffee for the ladies," they were told before they headed out back.

The bonfire was impressive. They weren't the first guests to arrive and Marybeth could see young people milling about and hear the laughter and shouts coming from various locations in the yard. She stayed close by Ella and Jenny as they sought out and found a young lady who was standing in the middle a circle of admiring young men. The men tipped their hats politely to the girls as they approached.

"Thank you for having us, Elsie," Ella said, holding out her hand and gesturing to Marybeth. "This is Marybeth Dandridge."

"Mrs. Dandridge, Mother told me about you," Elsie said, taking in Marybeth's appearance, eyebrow raised. "Why Ella Kennedy, she's _cute_." Somehow, when she said "cute", the word positively dripped with contempt. "You are the hired girl for the Meades, isn't that right?" She continued, raising her voice until it carried halfway across the yard.

"Yes, I am," answered Marybeth, trying to be polite.

"And you have...what is it?...Two children? Is that right, _Mrs_. Dandridge?"

"That's right, _Miss_ Wellburn." Marybeth's hackles went up at the other girl's tone.

"How...interesting." She turned her attention to Jenny. "So glad _you_ could come, Jenny." It was obvious that both Ella and Marybeth were dismissed.

Jenny finished her hellos and all three girls got away from Elsie as quickly as they could, but not before she could deliver a parting comment. "Enjoy yourself, _Mrs. Dandridge_. I'm sure a town party will be a lovely new experience for you."

Marybeth was seething inwardly, although her face never changed expression. She hadn't survived on the streets by being provoked into rage by stupid, senseless comments. But she felt a common, white-trashy urge to slap Elsie's insolent face. Of course, she wouldn't want to disgrace herself or the Meades', but she indulged in some extremely uncharitable thoughts.

Ella had known Elsie for years, but she never saw her react quite that badly towards another female at a first meeting. Feeling responsible for putting Marybeth in that position, she slipped an arm around her. "Isn't she awful? I'm sorry about that. Elsie is superior like that to everybody. Well, to the girls, anyway."

Marybeth smiled at Ella, but she longed to be back home in the Meades' parlor, sewing with Mrs. Meade and Betsy. She had no desire to subject herself to more ridicule. But on the other hand, as long as she _was_ here she wouldn't be chased away by Elsie's rudeness. No matter what, she simply had to go through with the rest of the night.

Ella stuck by Marybeth and introduced her to some of her other friends. They turned out to be more welcoming than their hostess had been, and some of the sting of Elsie's words started to seep away, although Marbyeth couldn't quite lose her earlier sense of uneasiness.

oOoOoOo

Beau Wilkes arrived at the Wellburns' a little later, greeted Mrs. Wellburn and Mrs. Elsing then stepped out into the back yard. He was amused to see Elsie captivating her admirers.

"Why Beau Wilkes," Elsie said vivaciously as she reached both hands to him. "Don't tell me you've come all the way from University just to attend my little party."

Beau took her hands and smiled down into her face. "I'm afraid it's unchivalrous to say so, but the ladies of Athens, as charming as they are, just don't hold a candle to the young ladies right here in Atlanta. So how could I stay away?"

Elsie simpered and looked up at him through her lashes. "Then you simply must tell me all about school--if you can find the time to spend with a simple little girl like me."

He nodded non-commitally. Then he caught a glimpse of Ella. "If you'll excuse me, Elsie," he said as he left her to join his friends. Elsie was a good sort, he thought, an inveterate flirt who was unencumbered by great mental abilities; but on the other hand, a girl with her beauty didn't need a lot of brains.

Elsie looked down quickly as he left and busied herself smoothing out a wrinkle in her glove to give herself time to arrange her face in calm, serene lines. It was a source of perpetual frustration to her that she could never entice more than the most playful banter from Beau.

She didn't know when she made it her aim in life to trap Beau Wilkes; she simply wanted him. He would be the feather in her cap, her crowning achievement. Every girl wanted Beau. He was the most handsome, the most charming young man in their set. He was also maddeningly aloof. He treated every girl with the same friendly, impersonal bantering, but he never seemed to have a preference for any one of them.

But Elsie was going to change all that. She wasn't sure how, but she was going to wrap Beau around her little finger if it was the last thing she did. She knew he liked her and thought her pretty, but only in an impersonal way. But at least it was a start.

Her face was calm now, and she dared to look up. The sight that met her eyes filled her with hope and confidence. Beau was only talking to his cousin Ella and her friend Jenny and that stupid Marybeth Dandridge; nobody Elsie had to worry about. She was so overjoyed that she gave the young man on her right a brilliant smile and was gratified at the sudden look of longing she saw in his eyes...

oOoOoOo

"Ella, did you come here with the Whitings? I haven't seen Wade Hampton at all," Beau said.

"Oh, he's not here yet. He must still be at the office. But yes, we rode with the Whitings," she replied, gesturing towards Marybeth and including her in the word 'we'.

Beau greeted Marybeth and Jenny then. Jenny returned his greeting like an old friend, Marybeth with her wonted reserve. Beau had seen the three ladies from across the yard and was overjoyed to see Ella. He'd lost no time making his way to her. But flirtation, the type of flirtation he engaged in so easily with girls like Elsie was out of the question with Ella. Somehow he could never think of the gallant, mindless things to say to her that came so easily with other girls. Besides, if she rebuffed him he was sure he'd never recover. He thought wryly that he'd rather risk flirting with Marybeth.

oOoOoOo

Wade Hampton was one of the last guests to arrive. He was at the office until late, finishing up some research. As much as he longed to see his dear Elsie, he needed to get this work done first. The Meade settlement was nearly resolved; three more days at most. It was his first case and he wanted to start his career with a success.

But finally he could put his pen down and lock up for the night, and in 15 minutes he was pulling up to the Wellburns' home.

He had called on Elsie twice since his return from his Grand Tour and he had seen her a few more times at social gatherings. And, to his dismay, he was just as tongue-tied around her as he had ever been; as tongue-tied as he was around any girl. Even a year spent among the beauties of Europe hadn't cured him of his shyness. But then again, he didn't want any beautiful European girl. He wanted his own lovely Elsie Wellburn.

He made his way to the circle of admirers around Elsie and she held out a hand to him.

"Wade Hamilton, I'm so pleased to see you," she said with a flutter of her lashes.

His heart lurched as he pressed her hand ever so gently. "Good evening, Elsie," he said, but just barely. It was always so hard to get the words out.

She winked at him as she withdrew her hand. She turned her attention to another young man and Wade listened in admiration to the breezy banter going back and forth. If only he had the ability to talk to girls that way; if only he had the courage.

Somebody brought a fiddle and somebody else brought a harmonica, and they started playing. The young man Elsie was currently flirting with led her to the bonfire to dance. In Ella's group, Beau asked Jenny; somebody else claimed Ella. Marybeth, as soon as she realized this was turning into a dance, faded into the background. Safe in the low-slung branches of a tree, she stood and watched. She didn't want to dance, didn't really know how, either, and she looked at the others without any envy. The most she felt was some yearning for her old beau, William.

While she stood back there watching her friends change partners for dance after dance, a young couple detached themselves from the group around the bonfire and headed towards the relative privacy of the edges of the yard, not far from where she was. They stood close together, talking, and Marybeth inched away from them, not wanting to see them or be seen. When she found a new place to stand another couple detached themselves from the group and found refuge under the trees.

Stifling her annoyance, Marybeth decided to go in the house, away from the dancers and the trysting couples. She had inched her way around the perimeter of the yard, hoping to go back to the house for something hot to drink when she happened by Elsie, winded from dancing, who was strolling arm in arm with a young man she didn't recognize.

"I don't know who she is," she was saying wearily. "I don't know why she has to be here, either, but you know Ella--she chooses the strangest people to be her friends."

Marybeth leaned back against the fence, lump in her throat, eyes stinging, but she didn't cry. Marybeth never did. She was even beyond rage. She simply felt mortified. But in a way, Elsie was right--she only said out loud what Marybeth had been thinking all along. This wasn't her circle, her social class. Ella and Jenny were kind, sweet girls, but Marybeth was better off seeing them alone, without a lot of other people around.

oOoOoOo

Beau was waltzing Ella around the yard after having waited a decent interval for her to dance with other partners. They were laughing together over stories he was telling her about University when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Ella didn't notice Beau's arm around her had stiffened slightly, but she turned and squealed when she saw who it was.

"Oh, Albert!" Her eyes were shining and she clasped her hands in front of her. "Oh, Beau, look. It's Albert."

Beau nodded at Albert and gracefully handed her over to him. Albert slid his arm around her and waltzed her away.

"Albert, you're home!" Ella breathed.

"Surprised?"

"Of course I am. You said you weren't coming home until the Christmas holidays."

"Well, I got homesick for Atlanta...and other things..." he looked away from her a little shyly.

"But when did you get in?"

"Late this afternoon. Then I'll have to leave on the early train tomorrow."

"Then it's lucky you found us here."

Albert shrugged. "I found out where Joe and Jenny had gone and I figured you would be here too."

Ella just beamed at him.

oOoOoOo

Ella's loss was Elsie's gain, for Beau went to ask that young lady to dance after he handed Ella to Albert. But Elsie continued to be frustrated as she tried to inveigle him into more than a light, passing flirtation.

oOoOoOo

Marybeth was grateful when the evening drew to a close and she and Ella were headed home, with Wade Hampton driving them.

"Can you believe Albert Whiting came home just to see me?" Ella whispered to Marybeth. For Albert had confessed that in a moment of daring as he and Ella stood together in the shelter of the trees. He still hadn't declared his love (or tried to kiss her, to Ella's chagrin), but she had to settle for what she could get.

"I think that's wonderful," said Marybeth sincerely, happy for her friend. At least one of them had really had a good time tonight.

"He promised to call on me tomorrow before his train leaves," Ella said, sighing. She wished she could have allowed him to drive her home, but she'd already asked Wade to bring Marybeth home with them and she knew the other girl well enough to know she wouldn't appreciate being left alone to make small talk with her brother.

"So you'll have even more time with him," said Marybeth encouragingly.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Ella was anxious to know.

Marybeth didn't want to sound ungrateful, so she said, "It was very nice."

"I'm glad," said Ella, settling back against the seat cushion. "The girls all told me they liked you."

Marybeth stifled a wry smile. Elsie probably didn't say that. Or maybe she did, trying to sound like a kind and caring person. The little witch. Her snide remarks had hurt more than Marybeth thought possible, and Ella's assurance that it wasn't personal hadn't alleviated the sting. But Marybeth knew she'd acted with cool dignity in the face of Elsie's nastiness.

Wade was also thinking about Elsie, but his thoughts were much rosier. He'd had an opportunity to dance with her, for the first time in over a year and it was the fulfilment of what he longed for all those months overseas. She was as beautiful as he remembered, as charming as ever, and he was still besotted.

At the Meades' carriage block, Wade Hampton jumped down to help Marybeth out, and she turned to Ella to wave good-bye before heading into the house. Dr. and Mrs. Meade were both waiting for her.

"Did you have a good time at the bonfire?"

"It was very nice, Mrs. Meade," she replied, face carefully neutral.

Mrs. Meade looked at her sharply. When Marybeth was happy, she never hesitated to show it. And for only a few exceptions, all other emotions she kept carefully hidden behind that smooth, bland expression. Maybe somebody said something to upset her. Could Elsie Wellburn...? Mrs. Meade wouldn't put it past her. She'd watched Elsie grow up, and as much as she loved Mrs. Elsing and Fanny, there was always something off-putting about Elsie. Mrs. Meade didn't like to see Marybeth get hurt, but she couldn't shield her. And she was firmly convinced the girl needed friends of her own.

"Dandridge, I'm going to need you again," Dr. Meade broke in.

"Certainly, when?"

"We have to try to rewrite the patients' records and it's too big a job for Miss James to do alone. Can you write clearly?"

Marybeth nodded.

"Then it's settled. Tomorrow's Sunday, so you'll start on Monday."

**Hoped you liked it, hope there was enough intrigue to satisfy. And thanks for all the recent reviews—reviews make for a happy fanfic author.**


	17. honeysuckle 4

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Marybeth was in Dr. Meade's study helping Miss James rewrite patients' records. An extra table was brought in for the two ladies to work, but the room was none too big to begin with, and other furniture had to be pushed against the wall. Where it had once been a cosy little area, it was now a nightmare of books and papers and not enough space. Betsy had horrors every time she had to go in there and had all but given up on trying to keep it clean.

Marybeth sat writing. As she had told Dr. Meade, she did write clearly but her writing was not very pretty. She was no schoolmarm blessed with a perfect copperplate script. And she so rarely wrote anything at all that the going had been very slow at first, although she was starting to catch up to Miss James.

She had just finished writing a page and placed it on the finished pile when Mrs. Meade came in carrying an envelope.

"This came for you, Marybeth."

She took the envelope from Mrs. Meade with some surprise and a little trepidation, for she had not received a letter since she lived in Bethlehem. It was addressed to her, all right. Her hands shook and she frowned a little as she opened it.

"Oh, Mrs. Meade, it's an invitation to a party and dance at Ella's house," she said, laughing a little in her relief.

"How nice. When is it?"

"Two weeks. I'll send my R.S.V.P. immediately."

"That you're going?"

"That I'm _not_."

"But why not?"

"Surely, Mrs. Meade, you don't expect me to go."

"Surely, I _do_ expect you to."

Marybeth hesitated. She hoped Mrs. Meade would understand her point of view, and she was a little at a loss as to what to say.

"So, why don't you want to go?" The older woman pressed.

"Well--I'm not really a part of their circle."

"Ella likes you--hasn't she tried to be friends with you? And Jenny Whiting likes you."

"Yes, they're both darlings, but it's different when I'm with just them. I'm afraid to go into a big crowd like this, if you really want to know."

"Because..." Mrs. Meade prompted.

Marybeth sighed as she tried to find a diplomatic way to express her thoughts. "They've all known each other since they were children. They're already friends. They don't really need _me_."

"Are you trying to tell me it's because you work for us but none of them need to hire out?" Mrs. Meade asked archly.

Marybeth rushed to answer. "I love working for you and Dr. Meade. I don't want to do anything else. I'm very content, and please don't think I'm ungrateful for everything you've done." There was absolute sincerity in her voice.

"You're afraid some people will think you're getting uppity?"

Marybeth had no answer for that. It was what she was afraid of, although she didn't want to state it so baldly. But she nodded her head.

"Ella invited you. You never tried to push your way in. Marybeth, I've been watching you, and I'm glad Ella has taken a liking to you. You should be glad, too. Given your own way, you spend entirely too much time with old people like me."

"But I don't mind, I like it that way."

Mrs. Meade put her hand gently on Marybeth's shoulder. "But it's not enough for a young girl like you. And as your employer, I insist you go."

Marybeth sighed. "May I R.S.V.P. to Ella in person?"

"Of course. Go this afternoon. And, Marybeth?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Make sure you borrow a dress pattern. You're getting a party dress."

oOoOoOo

It was the first time Marybeth had been to the Butler mansion on Peachtree Street, although she had seen it from the outside several times. Even to her unformed taste the place was rather a monstrosity--too ornate, too much of everything.

Marybeth pushed the baby carriage with both her children in it up the walk to the front door. She didn't plan to stay for very long, so she decided to take the opportunity to give them an airing. She knocked and they were admitted by a black woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. The maid went upstairs to fetch Ella, and Marybeth waited in the foyer with Edward and Christina.

Marybeth looked around at her surroundings. There was so much red, so many mirrors, so much opulence. She had never seen anything like it in her life. And yet it seemed so gloomy. The Meades' comfortable little house was so cozy and light by comparison.

Ella came running down the stairs, followed by Jenny. The maid followed both girls more slowly.

"Marybeth! What a surprise! Welcome! Come on upstairs--no wait, the children. Do you mind if Prissy takes them in the back to play with Lanie? Lanie's the same age as Edward, remember?"

Marybeth nodded her assent and Prissy took the little ones in the back with her. Ella brought Marybeth up to her bedroom.

Marybeth never saw a bedroom as ornately furnished as Ella's before. It looked like a princess's sleeping chamber. But it had absorbed the personality of its owner; scattered here and there were Ella's prize possessions and souvenirs, needlework projects and flowers plunked haphazardly in vases. Instead of being off-putting like the rest of the house it was a welcoming room, albeit very grand. Jenny hopped up on the bed and Ella motioned Marybeth into a comfortable chair before offering her some tea.

"I suppose you got my invitation?" Ella looked pleased and expectant.

"Yes, Ella. You're so sweet to invite me, but I have a problem. Actually, two problems. It's really quite embarrassing after you've been so kind already but--I don't know how to dance."

"Not at all?"

"Well, I can two-step reasonably well, but that's all I know."

Ella grinned and winked at Jenny. "Then, we'll just have to teach you. Jen, the sheet music should still be where we left it." Ella grabbed Marybeth's arm as Jenny fished around under the bed for the music and led them up to the third floor, which to Marybeth's amazement was all ballroom. It was ornate and gaudy like the rest of the house, but spacious, with sheet-covered furniture pushed against the walls.

"Jenny can play anything on the piano. You'll see. Could you help her with that?" And Ella gestured towards the covered piano. Marybeth helped Jenny pull off the sheet and fold it while Ella lit some lamps.

Jenny sat down and with a flourish performed a few scales. Ella made Marybeth stand in the middle of the room, then stood there, hand on chin, thinking.

"We'll do the waltz, first. It's the easiest. Watch me. Step back, step to the side, feet together. Then step front, step to the side, feet together. Understand?"

Ella did move gracefully, Marybeth reflected. She tried to imitate her, but got confused and tripped over her own feet.

"Not bad for a first try," said Ella, lips twitching. "Do it again." Gracefully she demonstrated and far less gracefully Marybeth copied her, but at least she didn't trip up this time.

"Good, now faster." Ella stood next to Marybeth and took her hand. "Now--one, two, three. One, two, three..."

Ella practiced the other girl until Marybeth could move smoothly, if not expertly. "I'll be the gentleman now. Put this hand on my shoulder here and I'll put my hand on your waist. Take my other hand here. You just follow me. One, two, three..."

Jenny pounded out a Strauss waltz on the piano, keeping time despite laughing at the ridiculous spectacle of Ella trying to teach Marybeth to dance. Marybeth really was quite dreadful. She got confused, forgot where to go and stepped on Ella's feet until Ella wondered out loud if she'd even be able to walk by the time the party actually arrived.

"This was your idea, remember," said Marybeth.

"Never mind. Let's try it again. One, two, three--Marybeth, you're hopeless. Look up, not at your feet." But she was laughing.

"I told you, I can only two-step," Marybeth laughed, too.

"Fine, then a two-step. Jenny, play something to two-step to."

Jenny changed tunes and the other two girls, in a fit of silliness, were dancing around the room, laughing, swinging faster and faster until all of a sudden Ella stopped short and Marybeth collided into her. Looking to see why Ella had stopped, she saw Wade Hampton in the doorway, looking mildly alarmed.

Ella gave him an elaborate wave and bow, but he was already backing away.

"I--I heard noise--from up here--I didn't mean to disturb you." A blush was creeping over his face.

"It's just us, Wade, practicing for the party."

"Oh--uhm--well, good day--Jenny--Mrs. Dandridge..." he hurried away.

Jenny, who had joined the other girls when Wade arrived, waited until she could hear his footsteps dying away before she collapsed in a fit of giggles. When she could speak again, she said, "Oh, Ella, a year overseas and he still can't speak to a member of the fair sex."

"I don't think it bothers him too much, though," said Ella, also giggling. "Elsie's the only girl he wants to talk to, anyway."

Marybeth's ears pricked up at the sound of Elsie's name. "Is he her beau?"

"He'd like to be."

"But does she care about him?"

"Elsie Wellburn cares about Elsie Wellburn," said Jenny with a touch of distain. "And it's a pity. He's not bad looking, that brother of yours, Ella. Of course," she added a little dreamily," He's not Beau Wilkes."

Ella pinched Jenny playfully. Apparently, Jenny had always been a wee bit infatuated with Ella's handsome cousin.

"You just practice what I taught you, Marybeth and you'll be fine by the day of the party."

"Oh, that reminds me. Ella, may I borrow a dress pattern? Mrs. Meade and I are going to make a party dress."

"Do I have a dress pattern? Let's go!"

Some time later the girls were surrounded by discarded party dresses. They were back in Ella's room, and they had finally found one they all agreed looked good on Marybeth. She was standing on a stool in front of the mirror to model it, Jenny was fussing with the hem and Ella was kneeling on the floor, writing notes on the pattern with a pencil.

"You're shorter than me, so you'll bring up the hemline just so and..." At that moment she sat back on her heels. "What are you _doing_?"

Marybeth was tugging upward at the low neckline of the dress. "Adjusting the bodice."

"It's supposed to be cut that way."

"But I feel so exposed."

Jenny looked at her sternly. "You want to look stylish, don't you?"

"Stylish--yes. But not half naked. I'll have to walk around all night like this," And she crossed her hands in front of her chest, to the other girls' amusement.

"All right, all right," said Ella as she scribbled on the pattern. "You can bring up the neckline a half inch."

"Make it a whole inch."

"Make it three quarters. Although if I had your figure I wouldn't be in such a hurry to hide it. You never sewed ruffles to the inside of your bodice, did you."

"I should say not."

"You don't need to get a bee in your bonnet about it. I was only asking."

"Lilac," said Jenny suddenly.

"What?"

"You need a scent and I think lilac would suit you."

"That's it, Jenny--I knew I forgot something. You see, I wear violet and Jenny wears tea rose and you need a scent that's just you. I have a lilac sachet I never wear. Because it's not my scent. I'll give it to you."

"No, Ella, you mustn't. You've done so much already."

"Nonsense--It will be your Christmas present. Only early." She got up and found the lilac sachet. It was still fresh and Marybeth accepted it gratefully. Jenny was right. The scent was lovely and it really did suit her.

Mrs. Meade and Marybeth worked on the new dress and the result was quite pretty, even if Marybeth still secretly thought she was a little overexposed when wearing it.

**Thanks for the reviews. I'm verklempt.**


	18. honeysuckle 5

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thanks for the reviews--I treasure them all and I treasure the lovely people who leave them, too!!!**

Christmas was rapidly approaching and Dr. Meade was a very happy man. His lawsuit with the insurance company had concluded satisfactorily; they settled without even going to court, agreeing to pay his claim. He would receive the money early in January and he could start to rebuild his office.

"You see, Mrs. Meade? I told you Wade Hamilton could do it."

"Of course you did, dear. And you were right," she replied meekly. She had been dubious up to the end, but she graciously admitted that Wade had done well.

Wade was also pleased (and a little relieved) with the outcome of the case, although he would have liked to try it in court. He was an ambitious young man and anxious to acquire some courtroom experience.

And as Dr. and Mrs. Meade rejoiced in their good fortune, Marybeth realized that she had been living in Atlanta for six months.

They had been a good six months but she had mixed feelings. She had made new friends (although she was still nervous about attending Ella's upcoming party), she had a secure home and the Meads had been kindness itself to her. Mrs. Meade especially was almost as good as family.

But through all her new joys ran an undercurrent of unease; her whole life in Atlanta was based on deception. It was no use to tell herself that she needed a respectable facade or that her responsibility was to provide for the babies any way she could. Marybeth, who had always hated deceit, was living a lie.

The preparations for Christmas were also a source of irritation. Every day she was surrounded by people preparing for Christmas and talking about Christmas and every day her homesickness increased. She was extremely fond of the Meades, but they weren't her own parents, after all.

Mrs. Meade was overjoyed with the approaching holidays--it was the first Christmas in so many years with children in the house and she gloried in the preparations. If she noticed Marybeth's despondency she didn't comment on it. But then, Marybeth was expert at masking her feelings.

One night she lay in bed and sleep wouldn't come. She felt overwhelmed with sorrow and guilt and stared out the window, listening to the breathing of her sleeping children. She was remembering Christmas with her family, back when she was a little girl. From her parents' front porch she could look down over the whole valley, to see the lights from the houses, the thin ribbon that was the Lehigh River flowing between the hills. They would have a tree and presents, sing Christmas carols, go to Mass.

Marybeth rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. She didn't know how she would be able to stand the homesickness. And then it dawned on her...

The next day, when the children were down for their naps, Marybeth received permission to go by herself for a walk. Soon, she was in front of a big stone Catholic church.

Looking around furtively, although she didn't know why she wanted to avoid notice, she dug in her reticule for an object. It was her veil--the only thing she still had left from her childhood--something she had packed before she ran away. She removed her hat and placed the lace veil over her head. Now she was ready to go in.

As she stepped into the church, the atmosphere struck her like a physical blow. It had been so many years since she had been in her own church. Like one in a trance, she gazed around at the statues surrounded by votive lights, the baptismal font, the stained glass windows.

The church was not deserted on this Saturday afternoon. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see, scattered within the pews, other people who had come to pray and confess. Marybeth hadn't thought about confessing--she had come here following some deep impulse, but she stared for a long moment at the lines outside the confessionals.

Recovering herself, she walked gingerly to the nearest statue, a statue of St. Joseph, and knelt on the prie-dieu in front of it. She clasped her hands, but the words wouldn't come. She couldn't even control her racing thoughts. With a sigh of contrition that she couldn't pray, she stood up again, went to bless herself with holy water, then paused, looking for an empty pew. As her eyes searched for a spot in an obscure part of the church, her eyes were drawn to another statue--this one of Jesus--that had a homey, familiar feel to it. Then she remembered why.

It was just like the picture her mother, Annamaria, had hanging over the chair in her bedroom. It was an old picture and underneath was the inscription: _Venite ad me, omnes qui laboratis et onerati estis. Ego reficiam vos_. She taught Marybeth its Italian translation (Maman had been a Verchese of the New York Vercheses) as well as the English: Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden. I will give you rest.

She took it as a sign and found a place nearby the statue. She remembered to genuflect before she slid into the pew. Then she knelt down and rested her clasped hands on the pew in front of her, lowering her head until it was resting on her hands.

Her eyes burned and her throat hurt and she allowed the waves of sorrow and homesickness to wash over her. She remembered how it had been as a little girl in Bethlehem. Her whole family would be in the pew together--she and her sisters lined up like stair steps. The Brodie girls made quite a picture--they were all accounted pretty, with doe eyes and softly curling hair and clear sweet voices. Even Marybeth; the misfit, the middle child, the one who was different. Marybeth with her free-swinging stride and her penchant for climbing trees and playing baseball with the boys. She was not to be compared to her demure, well-behaved sisters. But she had always found the atmosphere at church to be very peaceful, even though she hadn't understood the Latin prayers. Now she missed it horribly, missed her family more than she ever thought possible.

Marybeth had heard all her life that struggle built character. She had even met people who faced worse struggles than hers and wound up becoming better for it. But her grasping and struggling after security these past years seemed to have done the opposite to her. It seemed to her as she knelt there that her soul was parched and barren, scorched by anger and rage. Her spiritual gifts--mercy, forbearance, longsuffering--those had all been laid waste by her wilfulness and lust and pride and deceit. She knew she believed in God and loved Him (although not as much as she loved getting own way), but arching over all, she desperately craved that peace she had felt as a little girl before Miklos had taken her innocence and Alex had ruined her further.

She waited in line outside a confessional, thinking about all the things she had done in the last three years. It wasn't hard to make a rather long list. And when her turn came, she kneeled in the dark, forehead lightly touching the grille and waited her turn.

She jumped when the little door covering the screen scraped open, but she launched right into her confession. "...It's been over three years...I missed Mass, took the Lord's name in vain, stole, fought..." she went on and on. She told him about Mik and she told him about Alex...and then she paused. Should she tell him about the lies she told the Meades about her children's parentage? What if he directed her to come clean to the Meades and they threw her out? Would they actually make her leave? Her thoughts took a different turn. After all, lying was a sin--Marybeth wasn't going to argue that. But was her particular lie a mortal sin or a venial? In a split second she came to a decision. "Also, Father, I told some lies."

There. She said it. She wasn't entirely comfortable with this evasion, however. The priest gave her absolution in a frail, whispery voice and three Hail Mary's for penance and dismissed her. She left the confessional and knelt down in the pew to pray. She couldn't deny it, she did feel a sensation like a soft, cool, refreshing rain on her soul, but it wasn't the complete peace she had hoped for.

She wanted to come back tomorrow. She wanted to go back to Mass again. She only hoped the Meades wouldn't mind. She had been attending the Methodist church with them. She would miss Reverend Whitley who was so kind and always gave her a friendly smile and handshake after services. She would miss listening to Mrs. Merriwether play the organ. She started to feel a little anxious to tell them her decision, and that anxiety pushed her guilt partially out of her mind.

She was deep in thought as she left the church, a little tired after all that mental and spiritual exertion. Her eyes still burned and her throat was sore. She stepped outside and into a little courtyard where she removed her veil and replaced it with her hat. But she wanted to compose herself before the walk home and she stood next to one of the marble statues with her hand resting on it and was musing over and over in her mind, "Jesu, Jesu, Jesus Christus, Jesu..." when a shy voice behind her made her jump.

"Mrs. Dandridge?"

Marybeth turned to see Wade Hampton Hamilton standing behind her, blushing like he always did whenever he had to talk to a girl socially. He tipped his hat and she nodded back to him, stifling a sense of annoyance and wanting to take her leave of him as soon as possible. She was still under the influence of the strong emotions that had overwhelmed her in the church and felt like she couldn't endure having to make conversation with anybody, particularly somebody as shy as he.

"How do you do, Mr. Hamilton," she said low, struggling to be polite. After all--she did just come from church. She was _supposed_ to act charitably.

"I-I saw you--I mean, you were there--in the church--I never saw you there before--didn't know--I mean, do you go here?" He had seen her in the church and thought she saw him. He didn't want to be rude and not greet her.

"This will be my church Mr. Hamilton," she answered, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. She really wanted to be left alone right now.

"That's nice," was his reply before he lapsed into silence.

Marybeth was really at the limit by this time, so she gave him a wave and a nod, "Have a good evening, Mr. Hamilton," she said as she made her escape and hurried down the sidewalk before he even had a chance to reply.

**I hope this chapter wasn't too deep and serious, but I needed to reveal more of Marybeth's psychology, as it were. And it does bear on later chapters.**

**But the next chapter will be more lighthearted, I promise :)**


	19. honeysuckle 6

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**I have THE BEST reviewers bar none!!!. takes bow, blows kisses**

"Please, please, Beau--please do it for me?" Ella pleaded, hands clasped, looking appealingly into her cousin's face.

"Oh, Ella..."

"Beau I _need_ you. Don't let Marybeth be a wallflower. Please dance with her, will you please?"

He looked at her helplessly. She was looking into his eyes with that expression he could never resist.

"Oh...fine. I'll do it."

"Thank you Beau, I can never repay you for this."

Secretly, Beau agreed.

Then, turning to her brother, who had been listening to this exchange with amusement, she repeated her request. "Dance with Marybeth, will you, big brother?"

"You don't need to remind me of my duties as host," He replied although he didn't look too enthusiastic about the idea.

"Good. Because if Beau is the only one who dances with her she might think it was just done out of pity."

"Not pity--coercion," said Beau ironically.

"She's really very nice, Wade," Ella continued, ignoring Beau. "And besides, if you don't do this, I'll whine at you forever and you know how you always hated it when I whined."

"It's true, Wade. You do hate that, you know," added Beau helpfully.

Wade shot him a look before replying to his sister, "I don't think she likes me very much. The last time I saw her alone she barely had two words to say to me."

"Oh, you both make me tired. We can't have her come here as a guest and be ignored. We have to make her welcome. It's the right thing to do."

Although if Ella had only known it, Marybeth was at the same time thinking that it would be very nice to be ignored. Her anxiety about the party had only increased as the date drew closer. She couldn't remember the steps Ella taught her, and unlike the bonfire where there were dark secluded places to hide, she would be out in the open and on display.

Because she was going out after dark, Mrs. Meade had Old Talbot drive Marybeth to the party. She arrived to see the mansion ablaze with lights. Mrs. Butler greeted the guests at the front door, then had Prissy direct them to one of the guest rooms to remove wraps and hats before proceeding to the third floor.

"Marybeth! Hello there," cried Jenny, walking through the doorway as Marybeth was smoothing her hair in the guest room.

"Jenny, are you ready to dance?" Asked Marybeth as she hugged the other girl.

"Why certainly," Jenny laughed. "And if you need a partner I'll dance with you, but only if you promise not to step on my feet."

"I'll remember that. You look wonderful. You too, Virgie," Marybeth said as she exchanged greetings with Virgie Simmons, who came in right after Jenny.

"Thank you," replied Virgie as she gave a little curtsy then twirled on tiptoe. "We haven't had a real dance since the summer, with supper and everything. I've been holding on to this dress for _that long_!"

The girls climbed the stairs to the third floor where they were greeted cordially and soberly by Wade and more enthusiastically by Ella. A good-sized crowd had already assembled and Marybeth stuck by Jenny and Virgie as they mingled with their friends. She remembered some of the names and faces from the bonfire and was happy to be able to join in the conversation. She thought to herself that if she could have spent the evening like this she would have been perfectly content.

But Marybeth was not destined to be a wallflower all night.

"Would you like to dance?" She looked up to see Beau Wilkes was standing by her side.

Marybeth nodded and took his hand. She held herself stiffly as he put his arm loosely around her waist. When the music started she concentrated on remembering the steps Ella taught her and trying not to trip, but Beau was an excellent dancer and Marybeth had to do little more than move when he did and try not to look at her feet too much. But she really had nothing to say to him and was relieved when the song was over and he took her to the refreshment table for some punch.

He handed the little cup to her and seemed about to make pleasant conversation when they were interrupted by Elsie Wellburn.

"Beau Wilkes, how wonderful to see you again, but I must admit I have a bone to pick with you."

Beau smiled down at Elsie and replied, "I'd hate to think I offended you, Elsie. What did I do?"

"Why I've hardly seen you since you came home from University and I did so want to talk to you."

"Do you have a dance left for me?" He asked with friendly humility.

"Well, let's see." She opened her dance card and looked down the column. "The fourth reel is open..."

"Write me down for it. Now, if you ladies will both excuse me..." With that he left them alone at the table.

Elsie watched him go before she turned to Marybeth.

"I just couldn't be sure it was you from far away, Mrs. Dandridge. You look so nice I didn't even recognize you."

Marybeth wished she could think of something just as biting to say back, but she never could think of witty things to reply when faced with sarcasm. So she decided to take the high road.

"Good evening, Miss Wellburn," she said as she clutched her punch cup.

"Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised to see you here. I hope you're well, Mrs. Dandridge?"

"Very well, thank you. And you?"

Elsie didn't deign to reply, but she was now scrutinizing her minutely. "My, what a dress! I'm sure I've never seen anything like it before."

"Is that right?"

"I didn't really expect to see you tonight, but I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, you're so lucky to have a friend like Ella to see you don't get left out."

"Ella Kennedy has a gift for putting people at ease. Wouldn't it be nice if more people did?"

Elsie raised an eyebrow at her, shrugged and left to find her admirers. Marybeth, with a knot in her stomach, made her way back to Virgie (for Ella and Jenny were both being partnered).

oOoOoOo

After the last of the guests arrived Scarlett went to the kitchen to supervise the cooking, then upstairs to the third floor to chaperone and mingle. Watching the young people suddenly made her conscious of the passage of time. Scarlett was thirty-nine this year, older than her own mother had been when she died. And Ellen had been considered middle aged.

All these guests, her children's friends--and yet it didn't seem that long ago that she had been the belle of the County and all eyes were on her.

The belle of this generation was definitely Fanny's daughter. Even now she was holding court and Wade was there, entranced. Scarlett couldn't stifle a little stab of irritation. It should have been her daughter who was the belle. If Bonnie had only lived...she would have been old enough now to collect plenty of beaux. Bonnie would have outshone them all and for another generation an O'Hara rather than an Elsing would be the belle of Atlanta...

However, contrary to Scarlett's expectations, Ella had done surprisingly well. Despite that she had never outgrown her childish giddiness and persisted in looking too much like Frank to ever be beautiful, she had acquired a certain amount of popularity. Dozens of girlfriends and a beau who obviously adored her (even if Albert Whiting was a little too bland and insipid for Scarlett's taste). Of course, Scarlett would have preferred dozens of beaux and no girlfriends at all, but Ella seemed happy with the situation. And maybe that was the difference between mother and daughter.

Had Scarlett ever really been happy? She'd had plenty of fun and intrigue enough to satisfy, but had she ever been truly happy? It was too abstract for her to pursue right now. _I'll think about it tomorrow_.

But it was interesting to watch the party as an impartial observer. Funny how some girls so easily lured men to their side. Others had so much trouble. For instance, there was poor little Miss Trevick--she had no tricks of feminine allure--but she wrung her hands and smiled nervously and so obviously wanted to be noticed. Then there was Ella's new friend, Marybeth, who also seemed to lack any tricks of allure, but didn't even seem to want to learn. She seemed content enough to talk with her girlfriends and made no attempts to flirt even when attractive young men approached them.

oOoOoOo

Ella was being twirled in Albert's arms when something made her look at Scarlett, standing over there by the orchestra. She smiled at her mother, but Scarlett didn't seem to have seen. Nothing unusual there. Ella was too used to not being the center of her mother's attention to be surprised by it, but she felt a stab of concern. Mother was wearing that expression again, the one Ella saw on her face with increasing frequency in the last year. Mother was deep in thought and her thoughts were not entirely pleasant ones.

oOoOoOo

When the song ended, Ella sent Albert to Marybeth to beg a duty dance and once again Marybeth managed to avoid disaster on the dance floor. But as Albert whirled her around she caught a glimpse of Elsie's mocking eyes looking right at her before turning her attention to one of her beaux. Marybeth stiffened again and felt a knot forming in her stomach.

When she was again safely deposited by the refreshment table she sidled towards her friends. She guessed that Ella had put both young men up to asking her for dances so she wouldn't feel left out. Marybeth was touched by her friend's concern, but it really wasn't necessary. She had no great desire to be asked and wouldn't have felt sad if she weren't. She knew that after Beau and Albert the only one else likely to ask her to dance would be Wade; etiquette demanded that he ask her, a guest in his house. And in due time she watched with something close to amusement as he detached himself from Elsie's side and made his way across the room to her. Politely she accepted his offer of a dance and she dutifully stepped into his arms and followed his lead. But she burned with anger when she saw Elsie once again looking at her with that same mocking face. Marybeth didn't feel any jealousy when she saw Ella and Jenny and Virgie being asked to dance, but something in Elsie's demeanor made her defensive and anxious to prove that she really did belong here and wasn't merely invited out of Ella's pity.

Acting against all her own inclinations, she steeled herself and said to Wade, "Dr. Meade liked the work you did for him."

She could feel him startle. Marybeth had been silent for the first half of the song, so her suddenly talking must have been unexpected.

"Dr. Meade said that?" He asked. She looked up quickly to see that he had a pleased expression although he didn't look directly at her. Then she glanced casually at Elsie, who was looking a little less smug that one of her beaux looked happy talking to another girl.

She looked away from Elsie and continued, "Yes, Mr. Hamilton and he told Mrs. Meade that you were young, but smart."

"Is that right?" He looked even happier and Marybeth noted with satisfaction that Elsie was starting to watch them both narrowly.

Affecting an innocent, bland expression, she said, "Oh, absolutely. He had the utmost confidence in you from the start. Mrs. Meade was a bit worried, but he told her that if you had explained the case to her, the way you did with him, she wouldn't have worried at all."

Wade forgot to be shy for a moment and just beamed. He turned Marybeth at that moment and she got a momentary glimpse of Elsie's face and she was almost glowering. Marybeth was disgusted. Elsie didn't care about him at all; he was just another beau she could brag about to the other girls. Not that Marybeth wanted Wade, but it angered her to see Elsie use him like that. Especially because he was Ella's brother and Ella had been so kind and welcoming to her, a stranger in town.

She looked up at him then and he met her eyes. She gave him the faintest trace of a smile before she looked away. At that he remembered to be shy and blushed violently, looking away from her.

oOoOoOo

Later that night, after a prolonged and sentimental goodbye to Albert, Ella tiptoed up the steps to her mother's room and knocked timidly.

When she was granted admittance, she saw that Scarlett was still dressed and sitting at her vanity table, turned a little from the waist to face Ella. To the girl's relief, the brandy bottle was nowhere to be seen.

She went up to her mother and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you for letting us have this party, Mother."

Scarlett shook her head dismissively. "I liked having young people in the house. We used to have such magnificent parties...but you wouldn't remember that."

"No, I think I do sometimes."

Scarlett looked at her amused. "You were so little then, I wonder..." She reached out and held Ella's wrist lightly. "Tell me about Albert. Is he in love with you?"

Ella, taken by surprise by Scarlett's interest in her life, answered truthfully. "I don't know. He never said he was. Is that normal? Shouldn't he have said something by now if he were?"

Scarlett snorted. "At sixteen, I would have said yes. At twenty-eight, I would have said yes. Nowadays I wonder if I'll ever know the answer to that one." Her hand tightened gently. "Just make sure you look out for your own heart. This probably isn't something a mother should say to a daughter, but it's the men you love who have the power to hurt you. So be very careful who you let yourself fall in love with."

oOoOoOo

"So you want to buy Mother a what?"

"You heard me, Wade Hampton. I think we should buy Mother a dog for Christmas."

"Ella, whatever for?"

"I think she needs something to take care of."

"She has the store to take care of. Besides, Mother isn't all that fond of animals."

"We had pets..."

"We had the horses and Rufus." Rufus was the St. Bernard puppy Scarlett and Rhett had bought for Wade when they were on their honeymoon. He died during Wade's first year at Harvard.

"But don't you miss Rufus?" Ella asked wheedlingly.

"He was a good dog. But have you thought of who would take care of it? I'm at the office all day, Mother is always at the store or tending to other business, and you do...come to think of it, what do you do all day?"

"I'll take care of it. With the servants' help, of course."

"Then how would that be a gift for Mother?"

"Because it would be...oh, never mind, it just would be."

"I think this is a bad idea. We should give her a real present."

"Like what Wade? She only wears the jewellery Uncle Rhett gave her. She doesn't read books. She has everything she could want--or could buy it."

"That's just what I'm talking about. She could buy a dog if she wanted one."

Ella sighed. "Wade, I don't like to say it, but haven't you seen how lonely Mother is? Uncle Rhett rarely comes around and," she paused, blinking back tears. "They're not happy, Wade," she whispered. "I love Uncle Rhett and I hate to admit it, but he's _mean_ to her. And she tries so hard..." Ella started to cry in earnest, now. "Sometimes she drinks too much. I know it's true because I've kept track of the brandy. Mother _needs_ something to love--something that will love her back. You're a grown man now, Wade; you're hardly ever home. And eventually, both of us will probably get married and move away. Then what will she have? I tell you, she needs this."

Wade was shocked. He had rarely seen his sister cry since they were small children. She was so happy-go-lucky all the time he didn't think she ever felt sad about anything.

He also didn't realize how aware she was of the estrangement between their mother and stepfather. Wade understood just how bad things were between them, but he never talked about it to Ella because he wanted to spare her innocence. She was forever making those casual references to "Uncle Rhett away on business", and Wade assumed she believed it. He looked at her closely for the first time in years. She was nearly a grown woman now, with a woman's sensitivity. He did love his sister even if she annoyed him frequently growing up and even now. He realized he couldn't treat her as a child anymore, but he wished he could have spared her the knowledge of what their family life was really like.

He patted her on the shoulder. "Don't cry, Ella. If you want to get Mother a dog for Christmas, that's what we'll do."

But the scene that unfolded on Christmas morning was exactly what Wade had predicted. They presented her with a wriggling Labrador Retriever puppy, which Scarlett looked at blankly.

"For me? Why that's a dog!"

"Merry Christmas, Mother," said Ella, kissing her cheek.

"Thank...you..." Scarlett said, uncertainly.

"Isn't he cute?" Ella pressed, placing the puppy into her mother's lap.

"Yes, I suppose he is," said Scarlett still dumbfounded, but she did go so far as to stroke its head.

Ella took Wade aside later. "See? I told you so. She loves it!"

Wade was a little dubious, but wisely said nothing.

Scarlett wasn't particularly disturbed by having a dog in the house. There were servants enough to take care of it so she wouldn't have to. And she agreed with Ella that it _was_ cute. But for the life of her she couldn't imagine what possessed her children to buy it for her.

Late that night Scarlett lay awake, thinking about the brandy bottle. Rhett hadn't seen fit to come home for Christmas and it hurt, hurt, _hurt_. She was debating whether she wanted to tiptoe past both her children's rooms to get to the liquor cabinet when suddenly she heard a whining that turned into a whimpering that turned into a howling. If that darn dog was awake, she could never hope to make it to the brandy bottle undetected. She lay there, yearning for the bottle, hoping the puppy would fall asleep, but it howled louder and louder. Nobody else seemed to hear it, for she didn't hear anybody else trying to do anything about it. Finally she got up, put her wrapper around herself and trotted downstairs to find her dog.

She found its basket and it yelped and licked her hand when she reached for it. _Ow! _ Its little needle teeth nipped her hand, but luckily didn't break the skin. She gently held its muzzle shut and said firmly, "No." The dog whimpered and licked her hand again, appropriately contrite. Sighing, she picked it up, scolding it again when it licked her face but she took it upstairs with her. _Just tonight it can sleep in my room_. She thought. _Just tonight_.


	20. honeysuckle 7

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**I'm simply overwhelmed by all the reviews I've been getting lately. Thank you, thank you.**

Marybeth was working alone at the table in Dr. Meade's study. He was out on some business, Miss James was at a patient's home, Mrs. Meade was making a social call, and Betsy was working and singing in the kitchen. Marybeth could hear snatches of song, but she tried to ignore it and not hum along because she was trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

The study door opened and Dr. Meade came in looking excited.

"Where's Mrs. Meade?"

"She went to bring chicken soup to Mrs. Whiting--you know how she's been down with bronchitis. She'll be there all afternoon..."

"Yes, yes, I remember," he said impatiently. Marybeth thought he looked ready to burst as he paced his office. "I do remember now. But confound it, I wanted to show her..." He stopped and looked at Marybeth. "What are you doing right now, Dandridge?"

"The records. At least until the babies wake up from their naps."

"How long until they wake up?"

"Any time now," she shrugged.

"Then I'll show you." His eyes twinkled. "I have to show it to somebody. Get those children dressed warmly and we'll take a drive."

They pulled up to an office Marybeth hadn't seen before and he helped her out. She settled Christina on her hip and herded Edward in front of her as Dr. Meade opened the front door with a key.

They walked in to see an utterly empty but spacious front room. There were built-in cabinets along one side wall and two doors in the back wall.

"This is it, Dandridge, my new office," Dr. Meade said proudly.

Edward ran around the room exploring the cabinets and Christina wriggled to get down. Marybeth put her gently on her feet and held her hands so she could toddle. "When did you get this?" She asked.

"Just signed the lease this morning." He proceeded to show her around the suite of rooms and they made their slow way. "There are two exam rooms, a large office. You saw the waiting room..." He explained as Marybeth murmured the appropriate comments.

"Do you notice anything different about this place?"

Marybeth thought, but nothing came to mind. She shook her head.

"It's almost twice as big!"

She turned to look at him, surprised. "Are you planning to take more patients?"

He laughed at the look on her face, then peered at her narrowly. "Dandridge, just how old do you think I am?"

Marybeth was stuck. To her, anybody over thirty seemed quite old, but she didn't want to hurt his feelings. She looked away with a sheepish grin and he broke in, laughing, "Never mind, it's clear from your face. I'll tell you. I'm 73. And yes, I'm too old to be taking new patients all by myself. But doctoring is all I know. Besides, Mrs. Meade doesn't really want me to retire. She thinks I'd be underfoot at home all day and she's probably right. No, I'll let you in on a little secret known only to Mrs. Meade and myself; I'm going to take a partner."

"Really! Have you picked one already?"

"First things first, young lady. I need to set up this office before I start looking. Besides, none of doctors I know want to combine practices. But I'm in no hurry. Not yet, anyway." He started moving them towards the door. "With a younger doctor as a partner I hope I can take it a little easier. Seventy-three has a way of catching up with one."

"You're not sick are you?" Asked Marybeth, concerned.

"Not at all," he said as they climbed back into the carriage. "Just the normal aches and pains. But don't you think I deserve a rest after all these years?"

Marybeth nodded, smiling at him. She realized she liked it when he talked to her like this. Even though she'd met him first before she met Mrs. Meade, she rarely had an opportunity for conversation with him beyond everyday pleasantries. Mrs. Meade was the one she discussed important things with. But she found she liked talking to Dr. Meade, too.

oOoOoOo

The Butlers had a maid named Prissy. She had been with the family ever since her days as a house slave before the War. After the War and after she had been freed, she stayed with her family, the O'Haras, the way Betsy had chosen to do with the Meades.

Prissy had been a young girl at the beginning of the War, but had grown into maturity and several years after the conflict ended, fell in love with and married a fellow former slave, a field hand who went by the name of Big Sam.

She had been living at Tara in those days, with Scarlett's sister, Suellen, and her husband, Will. Big Sam had spent a brief sojourn up North after the War but in the days of Reconstruction went back to work at Tara. Although they'd known of each other during their slave days, by working alongside each other they struck up an acquaintance that turned into friendship that blossomed into romance.

Prissy's mother, Dilcey, had been violently opposed to the affair. Big Sam was perfectly nice and honest, and he was fond of Prissy, but after all, he had been only a field hand, and was simply not good enough to court her daughter. Dilcey's husband, Pork, who had also come out of the house slave class, but lacked his wife's intense prejudices, tried to point out rather delicately, that with Prissy's lack of mental endowments, maybe they should overlook Big Sam's social status in the interest of getting Prissy married and taken care of. Nobody was more aware of Prissy's shortcomings than her mother, but to have it pointed out by Pork was more than Dilcey could bear, and it started one of the few real quarrels that had ever marred Pork and Dilcey's married life. It lasted three days, complete with hollering, sulking and door slamming, but in the end, Prissy and Sam got their own way. They were duly married, but Dilcey never forgot Big Sam's social class, and never let him forget it, either.

Among their children, Prissy and Big Sam had a daughter, a little girl of two, named Lanie. And it was Lanie who was Edward's first playmate.

Marybeth brought her children with her when she went to visit Ella, and Prissy was only too glad to have Edward and Lanie play together because she was able to work with fewer interruptions while the children entertained each other. Lanie was fascinated by Christina--it was so rare that she saw anybody littler than herself that Lanie thought it was a treat to have the fledgling toddler around.

Marybeth went up to visit Ella one afternoon, and after depositing the babies with Prissy she crossed the foyer to the staircase, but was surprised to see Mrs. Butler in the parlor. Ella had told her she spent most of her afternoons looking after her store. Marybeth went to greet Ella's mother and was surprised again to see her trying to train a rambunctious Labrador puppy.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Butler," Marybeth said politely then grinned, pointing at the dog. "She's adorable."

Mrs. Butler snorted and shook her head. "She's a _he_ and he's not so adorable when he doesn't listen."

"Aw, but he's just a baby."

"You can have him if you want him."

"No," Marybeth said, shaking her head and taking a step back. "I don't think Mrs. Meade would like it."

"I was only joking, Marybeth. Go on upstairs. Ella's in her room."

Marybeth headed upstairs. As she reached the landing she could hear Mrs. Butler calling for Pork to come take the dog somewhere...anywhere.

Marybeth joined Ella and Jenny in Ella's room to find them laughing themselves silly. Ella saw her, and between gasps of laughter beckoned her in. "Sit down Marybeth. I'm trying to explain to Jenny the proper way to flutter one's eyes at a gentleman."

"But Ella, I tell you, you're wrong--that's not how it goes," retorted Jenny giggling.

"It is so. You hold your fan like this--and bat your eyelashes like this--and they come running."

"How _you_ do run on. You have to tip your head like this--and look at them with come-hither eyes--like this--and you'll have 10 beaux trailing after you."

Marybeth sat down on the bed, shaking her head at her friends' banter. She was very fond of them both, but if Ella ever thought about anything else besides romance, Marybeth never knew. Jenny was more levelheaded and sensible; Marybeth realized this from the conversations she'd had with her alone. But Ella could be really silly sometimes, and she always managed to make Jenny act silly, too.

"Then if you don't believe me, let's get another opinion," said Ella. "Marybeth, how did you entice your husband?"

Marybeth jumped a little, and Jenny flashed a look at Ella, censuring her for her insensitiveness.

"I'm sorry, Marybeth. Let's change the subject."

"Forget about it," she replied, unconsciously rubbing her ring with her thumb. She frowned, but she was thinking about William. She never chased him. He approached her, pursued her, did all the chasing. It was her choice to accept or refuse him.

The other girls had continued their conversation.

"It's better if he chases you," Jenny was saying, almost echoing Marybeth's train of thought.

"Yes, but maybe he needs a little push to start the chasing. Sometimes men don't realize that they really _want_ to be your beau, and you need to give them a reason."

"Which is what I was saying to begin with. You take your fan like this..."

Marybeth leaned back against the bedpost and let the two other girls talk. She was only half listening, daydreaming a little about William, when suddenly she was aware that the girls had stopped talking. They were looking towards the doorway, and Marybeth looked too.

Mrs. Butler was standing there, looking at the girls with a look of mild amusement. Then with an impatient sigh, she strode across the room, snatched the fan from Ella's hand and shaking her head said, "You younger generation are abominably ignorant. This is how it's done. Half open; that means friendship. Twirl it with the right hand; that means 'I am watching you'. Fan it quickly means you're independent--but get too independent, and boys will probably leave you alone. Opening and shutting the fan means you want to be kissed--but I'm only telling you this so you _won't_ do it by mistake and entice some young man to take a liberty with you," she added severely as the girls all grinned.

"So, Mrs. Butler, holding in the right hand means you're watching him?" asked Jenny.

"Not just holding it; twirling it in the right hand. If you hold it in front of your face with your right hand, it means 'come on'."

"Then, mother? What is the right way to look at a man? Like this?" Ella demonstrated the face she insisted was right. "Or this?" She made a burlesque of Jenny's version that made Jenny pinch Ella, squealing.

Mrs. Butler's lips twitched. "Men like to be admired, Ella. They want to feel like they are the strongest, most masterful, most masculine creature God ever created. I found that a look like this--" she demonstrated, "--accomplishes that."

Marybeth was impressed. Mrs. Butler really did look convincing. Most men would be foolish enough to fall for it.

"Then what about playing hard-to-get? My grandmother thinks it's a lot of nonsense, but my mother is true believer in it," said Jenny, warming up to the topic.

"They're both right. On the one hand, you never want your beau to think you were too easily won--that you were easy pickings. Men do like to do some chasing." Then Mrs. Butler paused. "But if you really love him, be sure you let him catch you at some point. Good day, girls."

Marybeth watched as Ella's mother left the room, leaving the fan with her daughter. She seemed a little pensive, a little dejected. Marybeth guessed it had something to do with Captain Butler. Marybeth still hadn't met him, but she was sure he was a varmint, even though Ella had only ever said nice things about him. But it still proved Marybeth's theory that if a girl loved a man too much that gave him the power to hurt her.

"Of course, we'll have to try all that out. We have to see if Mother's correct," said Ella.

Jenny and Marybeth giggled, rolling their eyes.

"Oh, I know," continued Ella. "Let's make it a contest. A flirting contest. It'll be fun!"

"What do you mean, a flirting contest?" Asked Jenny, warily.

"To see who's best at it. You want to?"

"Just wait a minute here. Who's going to be the judge?" Pressed Jenny.

Ella tapped the fan against her knee, thinking. "I know. We're all going to the dance next week, right? We'll try all these tricks out and see who gets asked to dance first. And we'll see who gets her dance card filled first. How about it?"

Jenny laughed and agreed.

"Marybeth?"

Marybeth shook her head, no.

"Please, please, please, Marybeth, it'll be fun. We'll see if Mother's methods work. Please?"

"I'd really rather not."

"She'd really rather not, Ella. You should leave her alone."

Ella got up and sat on the bed next to Marybeth. "You're not mad at me, are you? I don't want you to be mad." She slipped an arm around Marybeth. "But you're not really in mourning anymore, are you? I mean, you never wear black and you did dance at our last party."

"Ella!" cried a shocked Jenny.

"But it's true," Ella argued. "Please don't be mad at me, Marybeth, I don't want to hurt your feelings. I just think this'll be fun. But if you don't want to do this thing, I understand."

Marybeth looked at Ella with troubled eyes. She was right--Marybeth wasn't in mourning. She just didn't want to trap any beaux. Her life was much simpler without any and she didn't want any complications. She didn't know why, but somehow men always meant complications. "I'm not mad, Ella. I just don't want to. But I thank you for asking."

"Then you can be the judge--if there are any disputes between Jenny and me. All right?"

Marybeth agreed to be judge. But she left the mansion in a pensive, troubled mood. She was quiet at supper and didn't have much to say to Mrs. Meade as they read in the parlor that evening.

In bed that night she tossed and turned and stared up at the ceiling in her bedroom, thinking about the afternoon she had spent with her friends. She liked having girl friends again, girlfriends her own age she could talk to and giggle with. But when they started giggling about men, she felt the same old sensation of being left out that she'd had all her life.

She was a late bloomer, a tomboy who was still only interested in boys as friends long after all her girlfriends had started taking notice. Even now she still didn't have a repertoire of feminine wiles to draw on. She never thought she needed to develop wiles. But now William seemed so long ago, and Marybeth couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy as she listened to Ella and Jenny giggle about beaux. She felt left out--she didn't care about courting but the feeling of being different from her friends disturbed her.

Besides, she seemed to have bad luck where men were concerned and she didn't understand why. She knew girls who were forward and fast and boy-crazy and merely seemed to have fun. But for some reason Marybeth couldn't entirely fathom, twice already in her life she found herself in situations that spun quickly out of her control. She wasn't about to let it happen a third time.

However, she was older now and wiser. She should be able to recognize an out-of-control situation while she could still walk away from it. And she didn't want to be different from her friends...It was a lot to think about and it took her a long time to fall asleep.

She arrived at the party a few days later still mulling over Ella's flirting contest. It hadn't been far from her thoughts in the last several days and she tried to make sense out of everything. As she walked down the corridor to the guest room to remove her wrap, she saw Joe Whiting heading towards her. Jenny must be here, then. Marybeth came to a decision.

She walked up to Joe, favored him with a shy smile and asked him where Jenny was.

"She's probably still in the guest room checking her hair," he replied, looking at her curiously.

"Thank you," she said, and smiled at him again before she looked down, but not before she saw a sudden interest in his eyes. She was surprised. Flirting wasn't so difficult. It really wasn't that difficult at all.

Marybeth entered the guest room just as Ella and Jenny were leaving. She pulled them aside. "I want to do the bet too, girls," she said.

Ella took her hands, grinning wickedly. "You're going to try flirting?"

Marybeth nodded, grinning back at her.

"Why did you change your mind?" Asked Jenny.

"That's not important. It just sounds like fun, that's all. No, no. Go on ahead. I'll join you shortly," she said as Ella and Jenny made as if to wait for her.

Marybeth checked her appearance and took a deep breath of determination. She wasn't sure how this night was going to go, but she was looking forward to it. She was still buoyed up by her little success with Joe as she walked back down the corridor towards the main ballroom. She slowed when she was almost to the foyer. Wade and Beau were standing there in conversation. As she watched, Beau walked into the ballroom but Wade stayed behind and was standing alone, looking through the door. Wade heard her and turned. Gathering her determination, she approached him with her hand outstretched and gave him a friendly smile. "How nice to see you here tonight Mr. Hamilton."

Startled, he took her hand and stammered a greeting.

She tossed her head and gazed into his eyes. "The ballroom is decorated beautifully don't you think?"

He blushed and looked away but mumbled, "Quite-quite lovely."

With a sense of unease she realized that something was going awry. Joe had returned her smile, but Wade seemed afraid of her. Unwilling to give up just yet, she tried again. "We're seated near each other at dinner. I'll look forward to a chance to talk to you later."

He nodded, still avoiding her eyes, "Yes, indeed."

Was she doing something wrong? Was there something wrong with her appearance? Was she acting so forward he just was looking for a chance to get away from her? With a sudden knot in her stomach she wanted to get away. Something had gone wrong and now he didn't even want to talk to her. She had somehow humiliated herself and now she wanted to flee.

Pulling her hand out of his, she said, "I--must go--smooth down my hair--good evening." And she turned and fled down the hall as fast as she could without making a scene.

Left alone, Wade wanted to kick himself. You see? That's why girls rarely give you a second chance. That's why girls usually wind up treating you like a brother. She won't try you again. She'll find somebody else who will repay her efforts with chivalrous gallantries.

She had taken him entirely by surprise. It was well known that Marybeth Dandridge never flirted. Everybody knew she was cold and aloof. And yet...she took his hand and smiled into his eyes--smiled! She had a lovely smile. It transformed her whole face, made her quite pretty. And her voice, a little breathless and expectant. He didn't know she was breathless from nervousness but even if he had it wouldn't have mattered. The combination of smile and voice had overwhelmed him and he was unable to respond to her. And now he couldn't push away a sense of disappointment. Even if she weren't Elsie, he wouldn't mind a second chance...

Marybeth fled to the guest room to collect herself. Her first real attempt at flirting and it failed miserably. What must he think of her! Why oh why did she ever think flirting was easy... yet Ella and Jenny did it and even liked it. She looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head at her own reflection. Why did she ever agree to be in Ella's stupid contest? Out in the hallway she heard Elsie Wellburn's tittering laugh.

Elsie! There was another one who liked flirting. How she would laugh if she knew about her attempt to flirt with Wade Hamilton. Anger and dislike surged up in Marybeth. She straightened herself in front of the mirror and checked her dance card. Still empty. She heard Elsie approaching in the hall and lifted her chin, carefully arranging her face in pleasant lines. All of a sudden it wasn't a fun contest among her friends anymore. She thought resentfully that if Elsie could be such a skillful flirt, she could learn to be one, too. She whirled around and with a real determination marched out the door and passed Elsie, standing in the hall talking to a girl Marybeth didn't recognize.

"Miss Wellburn," Marybeth mumbled and waved but didn't stop to exchange barbs.

"Well, how rude," Elsie whispered to her friend. "You see? That's exactly what I'm talking about..."

The friend nodded sympathetically.

In her headlong rush to the ballroom Marybeth literally ran into Beau Wilkes, who had to grab her arms to keep her from falling.

"Oh, Beau, excuse me," said Marybeth, embarrassed, but she couldn't help laughing a little at herself.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, of course, I'm afraid that was a bit clumsy of me," yet she smiled, looking appealingly into his eyes through her lashes.

Beau looked surprised, but gave her a friendly smile and said something conventional and polite to put her at ease. She said a few pleasantries back to him. Beau was easy to talk to, even if their conversation was rather banal and meaningless. This was so different from when she tried to flirt with Wade. It boosted her confidence and he was the first person on her dance card. She felt her morale rising.

Shyly, haltingly at first, then with mounting assurance, she made her way through the room to Ella and Jenny, pausing here and there to smile or exchange greetings or flirt. Ella raised an eyebrow at her when Marybeth joined them and Marybeth winked and tapped her dance card. Ella smiled her approval.

When they sat down to supper Marybeth remembered with dismay she was seated close enough to Wade for conversation. She was still embarrassed about earlier, but she'd had some successes since then and it wasn't as painful as it could have been. Just the same, she skillfully avoided talking to him. He glanced at her searchingly a few times, but wouldn't have been able to get in a word edgewise even if he'd had anything to say.

As she danced with Beau and Frankie Bonnell and Joe Whiting and the others on her dance card, she was aware of Wade's occasional sidelong glances and it upset her. She was embarrassed that her attempt to flirt with him went so badly. And she blamed herself. She shouldn't have tried to flirt with somebody who so obviously was devoted to someone else, unrequited or not. In the future she would remember that. But for now she wanted to forget the whole incident and wished fervently he would stop _looking_ at her. She felt silly and foolish and she was sure he thought she was silly and foolish, too.

Wade _hadn't_ forgotten the incident in the foyer and he _was_ giving her sidelong glances. After all, how often did girls like Marybeth try to flirt with him? The conversation swirling around Elsie was boring him and his mind started to wander. Marybeth wasn't unattractive by any comparison. But when she smiled her whole face changed, came alive. It took him a long time to gather his courage, but finally, towards the end of the evening when Elsie was dancing with someone else and he was comparatively alone, Wade approached Marybeth and ask her to dance. She nodded curtly, avoiding his eyes, and allowed him to lead her to the floor. Her body felt stiff in his arms and she seemed to have nothing to say to him.

The fact was, she didn't have anything to say to him and she had no idea why he even asked her for a dance. She suffered him to lead her around the floor, but she looked forward with longing to when the song would be over and she could make her escape.

He didn't know what to say to her, either, now that he had her to himself. What had been an object for abstract speculation as he watched her across the room--the question of what might have happened if he responded to her differently when they first met tonight--now took on more immediacy as he danced her across the floor, with one arm lightly around her, her other hand in his. He could just detect the faintest hint of lilac on her and he wished she would relax and stop being so stiff. Their first meeting tonight had gone very wrong and it was his own fault and he wished he could change that, but he didn't know what to say. He wondered suddenly what she would do if he pulled her closer, but he was sure he already knew. She'd probably slap him...

oOoOoOo

Mrs. Meade was waiting up when Marybeth arrived home. She smiled at Mrs. Meade as she sat down heavily with a rustle of taffeta in one of the chairs. Then she sighed.

"Didn't you have a good time at the party?"

"Yes, I did. Well, sort of..." she frowned and put her chin in her hand. "Mrs. Meade, I think there must be something wrong with me."

Mrs. Meade fought a desire to laugh. "How did you arrive at that conclusion, dear?"

Another sigh. "At the party, I flirted, just like all the other girls, but there was something not right...somehow it wasn't how I thought it would be--flirting, I mean."

Suddenly Mrs. Meade didn't feel like laughing anymore. "Are you sparking somebody?" She asked quietly.

Marybeth shook her head no.

After a pause, Mrs. Meade asked, "Have you come to care about one of the young men?"

"No," answered Marybeth absently, then looked at Mrs. Meade's face. "Truly, I haven't." She couldn't help laughing a little before patting the older lady's hand. "Mrs. Meade, don't you think I would have told you if I did?"

"I guess I never thought about it, really."

"I promise you any courting I do will be done publicly and not in secret. All right?"

Mrs. Meade looked into Marybeth's earnest face and relaxed a little although she hadn't realized she felt tense.

"Not that I have any intention of courting at all," the girl added with a little frown.

Mrs. Meade looked at her narrowly. This was the first time Marybeth had ever brought up the subject, but Mrs. Meade had a feeling she didn't want to talk about it too much.

But all the same, she couldn't resist asking, "If you aren't interested in courting, then why were you flirting?"

Marybeth put her feet up on the ottoman and wrapped her arms around her knees, ignoring the discomfort of her stays digging into her lower abdomen. This had been her favorite position to sit when she was a little girl and she still liked to do it, even though ladies' fashions tended to impede her.

She tipped her head to one side, thinking. "Well, all the other girls do it and they seem to like it. I wanted to do what they were doing."

"But Marybeth, you know it can't be for you exactly the way it is for them. You have children and other responsibilities they don't have. You've done things and had experiences they haven't."

Marybeth nodded, still frowning. "Mm-hmm."

"If you don't want to court and there's nobody who catches your eye, maybe that's why you didn't enjoy it. If there were some boy you cared about, you might find flirting fun."

"I didn't say it wasn't fun. It was fun, some of it. You know, I liked it when Joe Whiting smiled back at me and I had barely greeted him. And I never was asked to dance so many times in my life. See?" She handed her dance card to Mrs. Meade, who studied it. She recognized all the names. Nice young men that she could approve of.

Mrs. Meade looked shrewdly at Marybeth. "So what you're saying is, you liked the attention. It's a feeling of power to catch and hold a man's attention."

Marybeth's head reared back, but she couldn't help laughing. "Yes, I suppose so. But it sounds so awful when you put it like that. I don't want power. I just wanted to be like my friends."

"But was it fun?"

"Some of it was, but it wasn't as much fun as I thought."

Mrs. Meade handed the dance card to Marybeth and sat back into her chair, eyebrow raised, and waited for the girl to talk again. And she did.

"Then why is it that some girls seem to thrive on flirting even though they don't really care about the men they flirt with? Like Elsie Wellburn, for instance."

Mrs. Meade felt trapped. Mrs. Elsing and Fanny were her good friends, but Marybeth was her responsibility. Despite feeling disloyal to the Elsings, she plunged in. "Elsie is an incorrigible flirt. She's been that way forever. She'll probably be like that forever. But you're not the same type of person she is. I don't think you have it in you to be an empty-headed flirt." Then, feeling rather helpless, she blurted out. "How did all this start, anyway? Why did you want to start flirting all of a sudden?"

Marybeth laughed shortly. "I guess it all started the last time I was at Ella's. Mrs. Butler was telling us about how to make a man pay attention to you and I started thinking..." Marybeth closely at Mrs. Meade. She seemed displeased.

"Mrs. Meade, I'm sorry. Are you angry with me?"

"No, Marybeth. I'm not angry with you at all. But Mrs. Butler was much the same type as Elsie when she was young. So be careful of any advice she gives you."

Marybeth stood up then. She was tired and her feet hurt. "I think I'll go up now."

"Do. I'm waiting for the Doctor."

When the Meades were alone that night, Mrs. Meade related the conversation she'd had with Marybeth. Her husband was silent for awhile.

"Dandridge is flirting? I'm surprised. I didn't think she was taking notice."

"I know one thing, Doctor. I'm _not_ pleased at her taking advice from Scarlett Butler."

"It sounded harmless to me."

"Doctor! I'm surprised at you. I never thought you approved of Scarlett."

"I don't. But somehow I doubt she will become contaminated by contact with her, either. Little Ella Kennedy is a perfectly sweet girl and Scarlett _raised_ her. And Dandridge has a good head on her shoulders."

"Yes, but she doesn't always use it. We've both seen her act without thinking first."

"Just the same, I wouldn't worry about her associating with Scarlett..." Dr. Meade trailed off, thinking. "In fact, maybe her starting to flirt a bit isn't such a bad idea." He continued hurriedly when he saw the look of surprise on his wife's face. "Just listen. Right now, everything is fine. You and me--Betsy and Dandridge in the kitchen and doing the housework--the children--Old Talbot to drive. Our household is very cozy--right now. But have you thought towards the future? You and I aren't getting any younger. What will she do then when we're gone? Perhaps we should encourage her to..."

"Don't tell me you're suggesting _marrying her off_," Mrs. Meade interrupted, appalled. "How could you suggest such a thing! She doesn't even want to! You wouldn't suggest she enter into some cold-blooded marriage of convenience, or..."

"Now, did I say any such thing? I only meant we should give her every chance to meet somebody she could be happy with."

"I know what you meant. And frankly, I'm shocked."

"You wife, are overwrought. I'm going to bed." With that he kissed her lightly on the mouth and turned out the lamp.

Mrs. Meade lay awake a long time after she heard by her husband's even breathing that he was fast asleep. Something had bothered her about tonight but she didn't realize what it was until Dr. Meade brought up Marybeth's future. She couldn't fault the girl's conduct. She was forthright about the party, honest about her feelings about flirting and even listened to Mrs. Meade's advice. She'd shown Mrs. Meade her dance card. And yet--she talked like a girl who was inexperienced dealing with the opposite sex. But the mere fact of her children disproved such an idea. In the previous months Mrs. Meade had noticed these little inconsistencies in Marybeth--things like her just-adequate housekeeping skills when she first arrived, yet she learned quickly. Her manners and grammar were above what she would have expected from a farmer's wife. She was an insatiable reader. And then tonight she talked as if flirting were something very new to her. Mrs. Meade wondered if she should question Marybeth, make her explain these inconsistencies. Maybe it was her responsibility. But on the other hand, she was growing more attached to the girl who'd brought youth and babies into her world again. Life was no longer the endless stretch of gray days it had been even last year at this time. Mrs. Meade tossed and turned restlessly trying to decide. Before she dropped off into sleep she decided not to upset the apple cart. After all, what could _really_ be served by digging into Marybeth's past? Life was sweet right now--cozy, as her husband phrased it. Better to leave it alone...


	21. honeysuckle 8

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Thanks for the reviews—I don't know what I would do without my lovely audience!!!

Marybeth woke up the next morning realizing she never found out who "won" their flirting contest. As soon as she could, she headed to the Butler mansion.

Jenny had slept over with Ella the night before, and when Marybeth joined them in Ella's room, they both turned to look at her when she entered. Jenny looked aggravated, and Ella looked embarrassed. Marybeth had a feeling she'd walked in on a lively discussion, if not an outright altercation.

"Did everybody have a good time last night?" Marybeth asked.

Ella and Jenny exchanged a look that Marybeth couldn't interpret.

"I just wanted to know who won the bet? Do you think your mother's tricks worked?" Marybeth asked, puzzled.

"Oh, Marybeth, never mind the bet..." Ella started to say as she wrung her hands.

Jenny sniffed. "Those tricks worked a little too well, didn't they?" Again she shot a look at Ella who gave her stare for stare before she blushed and looked away.

"I don't understand," said Marybeth.

Jenny looked at Ella, eyebrow raised. "Well then, you'll understand this; Ella let Frankie Bonnell kiss her last night."

Marybeth looked at Ella, surprised. Ella blushed but said, "Don't you scold me, too, Marybeth. I heard enough from Jenny."

"I wouldn't dream of scolding you," replied Marybeth mildly, as she sat down next to Ella. "But what about Albert Whiting? Isn't he your beau?"

"Oh, don't ask her about Albert," said Jenny with killing sarcasm. "No, wait, I take that back. _Do_ ask her. You'll just love her answer."

"Jenny, hush," Ella said before looking at Marybeth. "Albert's a wonderful beau and I love him. Or at least I think I love him," she corrected herself. "I don't even know anymore," she wailed.

"But is he your beau?"

"I suppose he is. I think he cares about me. But he never asked me to save my lips for him, or to wait for him. Shouldn't he have done that? I would have waited, if he asked me, really, I would have. But do you know, in the nine months he's been coming around he's never once kissed me! Maybe I only _think_ he cares about me."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Even if Albert weren't your beau, you still shouldn't be kissing just any man who tries. He'll think you're no lady and he won't respect you."

"Frankie respects me! He apologized and everything."

"That's what he said."

"Oh Jenny, shut up."

"Why should I? I'm just telling it like it is."

"Ella--Jenny--don't do this..." Marybeth interjected as she stood up. But she was ignored.

"Well, I don't want to hear 'like it is' right now, Jenny Whiting. And who asked you, anyway?"

"You did, when you told me how you betrayed Albert."

"Girls, please, don't," Marybeth pleaded, alarmed at the escalating argument.

Ella winced and looked away. Jenny pressed her advantage.

"If I had a beau who cared about me the way Albert Whiting cares about you, I wouldn't have gone looking for other diversions. You don't appreciate what you have."

Marybeth held up her hands, pleading, "Jenny..."

"Oh, why don't you go home?" Yelled Ella, stamping her foot.

"Ella, you don't mean..." tried Marybeth.

"That's the best thing you've said all day," retorted Jenny. With that she stormed out of the room slamming the door. They could hear her footsteps running down the stairs to the foyer, where her bag had been sent down, earlier.

Ella broke into tears, her defiant mood quite gone. Throwing herself face down on the bed, she cried stormily for a long time. Marybeth sat on the floor next to her, patting her back, very upset. She hated to see two friends fighting like this, so bitterly, but she didn't know what to say or how to mend their quarrel.

Finally, Ella sat up, face red, eyes swollen. She reached for her handkerchief and blew her nose. She looked the picture of tragedy as she looked searchingly at Marybeth. "Do you think I did the wrong thing, dallying with Frankie?"

Marybeth paused. Ella was in no mood to hear any correction. Privately, Marybeth thought Jenny had a point--a girl needed to command respect from her beaux and not look like she was easily caught. But at the same time, it was just a kiss--it wasn't necessary to make _so_ much out of it. After all, it wasn't as if Ella were now expecting a baby.

"Well..." she searched for the right thing to say. "It isn't as if you were _married_ to Albert..."

"But you don't approve," said Ella, looking at her narrowly.

"I think...if you really loved Albert...and he really loves you...then I don't know why you would even want Frankie..."

"I _told_ you. I _don't know_ if Albert loves me. Should I just wait here hoping some day he says the words I want to hear?"

Marybeth was starting to be sorry she'd ever come over. But she took a deep breath and plunged back in. "If Albert's the love of your life, then yes. You should wait."

Ella sighed. "I want to get married some day. I want to have babies. But I'm so confused. Sometimes I think Albert is the one for me. Sometimes I think I love him wildly. But then at other times...I don't know."

"Then maybe it's for the best that he _didn't_ ask you to wait for him."

"But maybe if he did ask me, and I knew he loved me, it would be easier to know my own mind."

Marybeth wasn't sure it worked that way, but she didn't say anything.

"Do you think I should tell Albert about Frankie?"

"That's your choice, Ella. If he hasn't asked you to wait for him, maybe he doesn't expect you to wait. In that case, he may not even want to know."

"I just thought of something--if he doesn't want me to wait, maybe it's because he isn't waiting for me! Maybe he's up there at University sparking another girl! Somebody smarter and prettier than me, maybe."

Marybeth could only shrug helplessly.

"Marybeth!" Ella wailed. "You think it's true!"

"Oh, no--I don't think anything. Unless you ask him, you won't know. And it's rather unladylike to ask."

"Ooooh, you were no help. Now I'm more confused than ever."

"Sorry."

"Maybe I should just be a nun! My Aunt Carreen is a nun and she doesn't have to juggle beaux."

Marybeth couldn't help grinning. "Do you really think you're quite suitable for the convent?"

"You're laughing at me. No, don't apologize. You're right. I would make a poor nun."

oOoOoOoOo

A sharp, brisk wind was blowing in the afternoon as the girls watched the riders put their horses through their paces. They were sitting on the top of the split-rail fence, toes hooked under the second rail for balance. Ella sat on one end, then Marybeth, Virgie and on the other end Jenny. The atmosphere among the girls was strained because Ella and Jenny still "weren't speaking", even after a week and a half had gone by, much to Marybeth's and Virgie's distress, and despite their repeated attempts at reconciling the two former best friends. Ella had cried and Jenny had sulked, but they refused to even try to make up.

The paddock was set up as a jumper course and the young men were taking their horses over the obstacles, daring and challenging each other to faster speeds and higher jumps. The girls watched as they talked to each other, although the burden of conversation fell primarily upon Virgie and Marybeth.

Wade was riding his new horse, a lively, black three year old that he was attempting to train. But although he'd jumped it many times in practice, it was the horse's first time jumping in front of so many people. Just before the last fence, the horse balked, refusing to take the jump, swerving around it with a sudden movement instead. Affrighted, Marybeth put her hands to her mouth. On her right she heard Virgie gasp.

Wade, however, did not fall off. He trotted the horse in a circle before urging him into a canter. The second time he cleared the fence beautifully. Marybeth let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. On her left, Ella shrugged unconcernedly.

"You don't seem very concerned about your brother," said Virgie reproachfully.

"Wade? It would take more than that to throw Wade." Replied Ella, ignoring the way Jenny tossed her head.

oOoOoOoOo

"I just get _so bored_ in Atlanta sometimes. I'd love to see someplace new for a change." Elsie was saying.

"And leave all your suitors behind?" Joked another girl.

Elsie sniffed haughtily.

"I daresay they'd still be here when I got back."

"Don't get too confident--out of sight, out of mind. Or that would be true of most of them. Although I concede that Wade would probably still be waiting for you."

Elsie laughed outright and there was no kindness in it. "If there's one suitor I can count on, it's Wade Hampton Hamilton...As if I couldn't catch somebody who is capable of stringing more than two words together at a time," she added contemptuously.

Marybeth, standing outside the bedroom door, was sickened as she listened to this exchange. Eavesdropping was contemptible, she was raised better than that, but she'd gone to the bedroom to check her appearance and when she heard the girls talking had paused. She didn't want to talk to Elsie and so she decided to wait her out. Marybeth hadn't meant to listen in. Well, not _really_.

And now she couldn't listen to any more. Marybeth stalked angrily away from the bedroom, eyes stinging, and paused beside a potted palm to calm herself. How she detested Elsie! Hated her arrogance and self-assurance and the cruel way she talked about people behind their backs. Marybeth had seen the look of adoration in Wade's eyes too many times when he looked at Elsie. It was too bad. Wade seemed like a decent person to her. At least he didn't deserve to be the target of Elsie's mockery. And beside, he was dear Ella's brother.

When she calmed herself enough to rejoin the party, she stepped into the parlor where Wade was talking to some of his friends. Marybeth remembered her own failed attempt to flirt with him not that long ago. But acting on a sudden inspiration, she made her way slowly around the edge of the room to where he was.

She stood quietly until he turned and noticed her. She smiled up at him, friendly, reassuringly.

"Mrs. Dandridge?" He said, blushing. Then with a shock he realized--this just might be his second chance! "May I pour you some punch?" He asked quickly before he lost his nerve.

"Yes, please," she answered, bemused. This was much different than the last time she talked to him.

She followed him to the punch bowl and waited while he poured a little cup for her.

"Mr. Hamilton, I just wanted to say," she said quickly as she took the cup from him. "I was impressed with how you handled that last jump."

He stared at her briefly as if the words didn't quite register. "But," he said slowly, "Coal didn't go over on the first try."

"I know, I know. But if it had been me," she grinned wryly, "I would have been on the ground."

"I didn't know you rode, Mrs. Dandridge," he said, almost forgetting to be shy in the face of his surprise.

It was her turn to blush. "Well, I never learned the right way--sidesaddle, I mean. I just took an old scrap of carriage blanket--but that was a long time ago."

"Surely you didn't take jumps?"

"Mr. Hamilton--if we were galloping along and something happened to be in our path, I certainly wasn't going to let the horse go over without me!"

"With no stirrups? No bridle?"

Marybeth grinned and shook her head.

"But how...?"

"Like this." After putting her cup down, she placed her hands in front of her in a pantomime of clutching the mane and at the same time she squeezed her eyes shut.

Wade was appalled. That was the most unsafe way of jumping he'd ever heard of. She was lucky she didn't break her neck. Putting his cup down, he stepped up to her and said, "It's much safer to do it this way." And he moved her hands into the correct position for jumping. "And always look at where you're going."

Startled, she opened her eyes. He looked so serious and the faintest little thrill went through her at the feel of his hands, warm and dry. She felt a bit relieved when he let go. And yet, it was fun talking to him about horses. There hadn't been anybody for her to talk to about this in so long.

Wade was picking up Marybeth's cup to hand it back to her when she saw Elsie standing in the doorway watching them, eyes narrowed. Marybeth only had time to raise her eyebrow at Elsie before taking her cup from Wade with a sunny smile.

Beau Wilkes noticed Wade and Marybeth's little side conversation and nodded to himself approvingly. He was surprised at how successful Marybeth had been at keeping a conversation going with his cousin. Of course, Wade was still thoroughly devoted to Elsie, but it didn't hurt for him to talk to other ladies, too. He needed to realize that Elsie wasn't the only girl in the world.

However, Beau was a lot less approving of Frankie Bonnell's attempts to get Ella's attention. What was he playing at, anyway? Everybody knew Ella was being courted by Albert. And it wasn't like Frankie to try to interfere in other people's love affairs. He preferred lighthearted flirtation to serious courting.

But it was true. Ella, who was going through agonies of embarrassment ever since she saw Frankie tonight, had gone to great lengths to avoid her former childhood friend. She was aware as she moved through the room that his eyes were on her, but she didn't dare look at him directly for fear he was thinking about how unladylike she was. And to her further sadness, she didn't even have Jenny anymore to help shield her.

So half the night was gone by the time Frankie caught her up. She had been talking to Virgie and her guard was down temporarily. When Virgie got up for some reason or other, Frankie slid into her seat.

"Don't go, Ella," Frankie urged as Ella looked as if she were ready to take flight.

"Good evening, Frankie," Ella murmured, blushing furiously and looking down at her hands folded demurely in her lap.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Ella looked around her desperately. She didn't want to be alone with Frankie. She wanted to take back the other night, wished it had never happened.

"Please, Ella? Just for a moment?"

She looked around one more time then shrugged helplessly. He helped her to her feet and guided her out of the room and down a corridor.

"Wait here," he said, and poked his head into a room that seemed to be unoccupied. "Right here will be fine."

Ella preceded him into the room, but when Frankie tried to shut the door, she protested.

Frankie put his hands up, and grinned at her shyly. "All right, fine, I won't shut the door." But he walked up to her and looked into her face very seriously. "I've been trying to get your attention all night. Why won't you talk to me?"

"I think you know," she blushed.

"Do you mean about the other night?" He grinned again, sheepishly. "Was it really that awful?"

"Let's not talk about it," she said.

"But Ella, it's all right, really."

"Please, let's not talk about it."

Frankie was silent. This wasn't going the way he hoped.

"Is it Albert Whiting? You think you can't forget him?"

She looked at him imploringly.

"I'm sorry, Ella, I don't mean to tease. Would it help if I said my intentions are perfectly honorable? I know it's not gentlemanly to talk about it, but I really enjoyed...well, " he gently stroked her ginger curls, "I'd like to call on you. That is, if you would see your way clear to receive a man like me."

She stepped back confused. She didn't expect this. Jenny was sure Frankie would never respect her again, and deep down inside Ella was afraid she was right. "We've known each other since we were children. You don't need permission to call," she mumbled.

"Of course, I will respect your wishes, but Ella, are you engaged to Albert?"

She shook her head quickly.

"I really admire you, Ella. And you're right--we have been friends for years, haven't we? Do things really have to change now? Just because I lost my head that one time?"

"I just don't know," she said.

"Would there be anything improper in my calling on you? In our visiting in your parlor? With your mother at home and the servants?"

It seemed so reasonable the way Frankie said it. Ella couldn't see anything improper.

"You said you're not engaged to Albert...but if you don't want me to come I won't."

"You can call on me," she said, low.

"Oh, Ella," he said, moving close to her. She looked up at him, wondering if he was going try to kiss her again. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but she really had liked it when he kissed her. It had been her first kiss ever and even though she wasn't in love with him, she could see why people made such a big fuss about it. Unbidden came the wish that he would try it again. Then on the heels of that thought she felt ashamed.

He did kiss her, but on the top of her head. He really seemed to want to show that he respected her. But Ella sighed in confusion and annoyance. It all would have been so much simpler if Albert had only declared himself!


	22. honeysuckle 9

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Thanks for the reviews—I don't know what I would do without my lovely audience!!!

Marybeth woke up to a world turned dark and gray. She slipped out of bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the floor. She padded across the room to peer out the window but what she saw was a forbidding spectacle of scudding clouds and wind-whipped trees. Even the inside of the house was distinctly chilly; the cold air seeped in around the edge of the window. Shaking her head, she wished she could dive back under the covers and sleep the day away.

But of course, she couldn't really do that. Both children were now sitting up and looking at her despite her best effort to move silently. She dressed them and herself quickly, settled Christina on her hip, and sent Edward downstairs ahead of her.

As she the top of the stairs, she heard a harsh-sounding cough coming from the Meades' bedroom. She doubled back and rapped lightly on the Meades' bedroom door, which had been left ajar, before opening it. Mrs. Meade, propped up in bed on some pillows, was in the middle of a coughing fit. When she finished, Marybeth put the baby on floor, shut the door behind her, and went to Mrs. Meade and gently put a hand on her arm. She felt hot to the touch.

"Marybeth," she wheezed. "The Doctor--making me stay in bed." She took an uncomfortable breath. "He thinks--bronchitis."

"Well then, don't talk--not another word. And don't you worry about a thing, either. Just rest up and Betsy and I will take care of you," Marybeth said briskly.

"Don't like--," wheeze, "--bedrest," cough.

"But you just said Dr. Meade insists. And don't worry. Whatever you want us to do we'll take care of."

"Good." Deep breath. "You can do--something for me."

oOoOoOo

Late that afternoon, Marybeth pushed open the back door of the Library, and let herself in, shivering at the contrast between the frigid outdoor temperature and the interior of the building, warmed by a cast-iron stove. She hung up her coat and hat and ventured into the main area where she knew the books were kept and the other ladies would already be waiting.

"I'm here to work, Mrs. Butler," said Marybeth.

Scarlett turned to her in surprise. "You? I thought Mrs. Wellburn was supposed to come."

"Yes she was, but she had to leave town unexpectedly and Mrs. Meade promised to take her place. Then this morning she woke up sick and the Doctor won't let her go anywhere--he thinks it's bronchitis--so she sent me in her place."

"Give her my best. Ella will be sorry to hear she missed you. She's nearly over that cold but I wouldn't let her out of the house yet," Scarlett replied.

Marybeth frowned and nodded sympathetically. "A lot of people seem to be sick these days."

"Yes, however I'll wager Mrs. Meade didn't get sick from going outside in the cold without her hat." Scarlett sounded aggravated.

"Oh, young people will do such things, or at least try to do such things," said Mrs. Merriwether, who just appeared from around a stack of books. "That's why I made it my business never to let my Maybelle go out without a hat in cold weather." It was said conversationally, but there was a distinct accusatory tone as if Scarlett were personally responsible for Ella's failure to wear a hat.

Marybeth saw Mrs. Butler bristle slightly and felt sorry for her. She knew that she herself would not like the implication that Edward or Christina fell sick through her own negligence. But to her credit, Mrs. Butler did not rise to the bait.

"Don't you think we had better start shelving these books?" Scarlett merely replied coolly.

Although Mrs. Butler stated that Ella would be sorry to miss Marybeth, Marybeth found that she was definitely missing Ella, even though she hadn't expected to see any of her friends. It would have made the time go more quickly to have somebody her own age to talk to, although she doubted that Mrs. Merriwether would approve of the young girls' chattering.

Or maybe the presence of a fourth person would have relieved the tension in the room. For the three ladies set to shelving the books, Marybeth trying to stay as far away from Mrs. Merriwether as possible, although she listened patiently to the older woman's detailed instructions about where the books went. The atmosphere between the two older ladies who had known each other for decades was coldly courteous and Marybeth felt disinclined to talk to either of them. But then it dawned on her; this was the second time in the last couple weeks that she'd noticed some disapproval of Mrs. Butler by the older generation. The first time was when Mrs. Meade said she'd been a flirt as a young girl. And today, Mrs. Merriwether's attitude towards Mrs. Butler was positively rude. Marybeth wondered why it should be like that. Was it something to do with Captain Butler? Was it because she was "in business"? And not some nice ladylike business such as giving music or French lessons, but the type of business a man would run? Marybeth knew about the store and had heard about the mills she used to own--and, product of her time that she was, had found the whole thing a little shocking. However, it wasn't shocking enough to merit _such_ a level of disapproval.

But as she worked steadily to reshelve the books, Mrs. Butler's social problems slipped from her mind. Marybeth was only seventeen, and the problems of the older generation simply weren't interesting enough to dwell on for very long. She and her friends had their own lives to think about. Besides, she was finding library work more intriguing than she had thought possible. Not the shelving of the books, precisely, but the books themselves. The Meades were very generous with their books, and Marybeth read whenever she had a chance, but their collection would eventually run out. If only Mrs. Merriwether weren't watching her so closely, she would have loved to peek inside some of the covers. She resolved to get permission to borrow books here.

An insistent pounding at the back door jerked Marybeth from her reverie.

"Go answer it, Marybeth," instructed Mrs. Merriwether.

She hurried down the hall and opened the door, stepping back quickly as Beau Wilkes and Wade Hamilton rushed in. Wade shut the door behind him.

"That wasn't very nice, locking us out in the cold like that," said Beau as he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. Wade moved to hang up his coat and hat, but he smiled shyly to Marybeth, blushing as he did so. Marybeth nodded back, smiling, although she continued to talk to Beau.

"The door must have latched behind me," she replied apologetically. "Besides, I didn't know anybody else was coming."

"My train arrived late and we couldn't come until Wade was finished work. So why are you here? Isn't this the Wellburns' week? And Mrs. Merriwether's?" Beau asked as he took off his wet things to hang them by the stove.

"I'm taking Mrs. Wellburn's place. They had somewhere to go, apparently. But Mrs. Merriwether is here." At the mention of the latter woman's name she noticed a humorous look pass quickly between the two men. Mrs. Merriwether seemed to have a reputation among the volunteers.

Wade held back somewhat and watched the conversation between Beau and Marybeth. He felt a pang of disappointment when he heard Elsie wouldn't be at the library today. He was so looking forward to spending time with her. But on the other hand he wasn't entirely sorry that Marybeth was here...

"Is it really that bad outside?" She was asking.

"Just take a look for yourself," replied Beau, pointing to the one window in the little anteroom. It was set high into the wall and was better suited for giving light to the room than for gazing outside. But it looked like it was still windy and it had started to rain. "We surely would have frozen to death if you made us wait any longer, see?" He grinned and touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

As Wade watched this byplay, it occurred to him that he could joke with and tease Marybeth even as Beau was doing. But in the next instant he was rather glad he didn't quite have the courage. Marybeth turned away from Beau and mumbled rather stiffly, "Your hands are cold." Wade guessed she didn't like being touched without so much as a by-your-leave. And while Beau barely seemed to be affected by her rebuff, Wade knew he himself would have felt mortified.

"I'll go let Mrs. Merriwether and Aunt Scarlett know we're here," said Beau, going into the main room.

Beau found his aunt just as she shelved the last book in her pile. "Aunt Scarlett," he said as he dropped a kiss on her cheek.

"Beau, your hands are cold!"

"Terrible storm," he replied.

Scarlett glanced over at Mrs. Merriwether, wondering if she'd object strongly to her leaving early. She was in no mood for sparring with the formidable older woman but she also was not about to stay at the library if the weather was only going to get worse as the afternoon progressed.

Steeling herself, Scarlett continued, "And how is your father--doing well?" She was well aware that Old Lady Merriwether was listening and probably thinking nasty thoughts, but she wasn't going to be intimidated.

Beau nodded, once again intrigued by his aunt's odd speech mannerism. Aunt Scarlett never, ever, called Beau's father by name. One would almost think she had never even heard the name 'Ashley Wilkes'. She also avoided talking about Beau's mother unless forced to.

Beau wondered if Aunt Scarlett's hesitancy to talk about his parents had anything to do with an odd little rumor to the effect that his she and his father had once been caught in an affair. Yes--Beau heard the rumor. Or more precisely, overheard it. He wasn't supposed to know anything about it, but he had overheard some grown folks talking--he was very young then. Mother was dead, but hadn't been for very long. He overheard some speculation that his father might ask Aunt Scarlett to marry him. He couldn't even remember who it was who said it. Aunt India possibly--it didn't really matter...

His childish mind had dismissed the idea as the silliest thing he ever heard. First of all, Aunt Scarlett was already married, to Uncle Rhett. Second of all, Beau's father didn't act as if he were in love with Aunt Scarlett--he didn't go calling on her, for instance. And more to the point, as time went on, no proposal was forthcoming...

But when he got older and more worldly wise, the memory came back and embarrassed him. Naturally, he knew that such a thing as adultery existed--but not his father! And with Aunt Scarlett? Preposterous! It was probably no more than nasty gossip-mongering. No, not probably--definitely.

A few months after his mother died, Beau was at the Butler mansion and Aunt Scarlett wanted to talk to him. Beau searched his memory, trying to think if he had done anything wrong. But she pulled him onto her lap--Scarlett, who was not given to cuddling small children! --and spoke to him kindly and seriously about his mother. She told him how Melanie had been her best friend, one of the greatest ladies she'd ever known. She told him about Melanie's kind heart, her steadfastness, her loyalty. She told him stories about her--some funny, some sad, some thrilling. Beau rested his head on Aunt Scarlett's shoulder as she spoke, but a couple times he lifted his head to look into her face and he was sure that there were tears in her eyes. Wade and Ella found their way into the parlor during Scarlett's recitation and she made room for Ella on her lap and put her arm around Wade--the couch where they were seated was wide enough to fit all of them...

The whole episode was so out of character for Aunt Scarlett that in later times Beau sometimes wondered if he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. But it seemed to him that somebody who grieved for his mother like that couldn't possibly have betrayed her.

He did hope, however, that Wade never heard the rumor. Wade was touchy when it came to the esteem in which his family was held. As a little boy he'd been in fights with other boys who taunted him with the claim that Uncle Rhett had never fought in the War. Sometimes Wade won these fights, sometimes he lost, but he always managed to get his licks in and he wasn't afraid to take on the other boys over matters of honor. Beau hoped to spare his cousin the knowledge of this rumor. Especially because Beau was absolutely certain that there had never been anything unseemly between his aunt and his father.

Meanwhile, left alone in the anteroom with Wade, Marybeth stepped onto the little bench under the window and rose up on tiptoe for a better view of the weather. The wind was still whipping the trees and it seemed to be sleeting rather than raining. She suddenly felt grateful that she was indoors in the nice, cozy library. She shook her head and tsk'ed. "It looks awful."

"It's bad out, but I went to Harvard. Winters there were much worse," said Wade.

"It would be, in New England. What is it they say? That New England summers are merely three months of bad sledding? I wish it were warm again."

""In winter I no more desire a rose than wish a snow in May's newfangled mirth,'" he quipped.

Marybeth turned to him with a little smile.

He looked down. "William Shakespeare," he mumbled. "Paraphrased."

"Why Mr. Hamilton, that was a good one. I just wish I had a response for it."

His look of surprise struck Marybeth as so funny she started to laugh. After a moment, he joined in. His laugh was pleasant--low and throaty.

Mrs. Merriwether came in, drawn by the sound of laughter and anxious to see what was taking Marybeth so long. She looked suspiciously at the two young people but there was nothing furtive or secretive about them, just good comradeship. However, she _could_ criticize them for dawdling when they were supposed to be shelving books.

"You _do_ know, Wade Hampton, that this is the Young Men's Library Association? You should be in there helping us. Beau already started working," said Mrs. Merriwether, jerking her thumb towards the main room. "The faster you start, the faster you'll be finished. You too, Marybeth, back to work."

"Yes, ma'am," Wade said courteously and Marybeth followed him into the main room.

Wade and Marybeth worked alongside each other, shelving books quietly except for the occasional "excuse me" or "this belongs in your shelves" But eventually her curiosity prompted her to ask him, "So this is run by the Young Men's Library Association?"

"Yes."

"Then what are Mrs. Merriwether and your mother and I doing here? Shouldn't the membership be exclusively young men?"

Wade started to answer, but he was interrupted by Mrs. Merriwether.

"Marybeth, we'll all get out of here faster if you stick to shelving books. You can talk to Wade later."

Marybeth didn't answer, but turned back to the shelves, embarrassed. When she did glance at Wade, he smiled at her sympathetically.

Scarlett heard Mrs. Merriwether scold Marybeth and frowned. She was happy to see Wade talking to a girl, and she approved of Marybeth, at least the little she knew of her. At any rate, she was respectful and courteous. She also had the distinct advantage of not being Fanny's daughter. Scarlett thought darkly that if she had to listen to Mrs. Merriwether boss one more person around, she would start screaming.

oOoOoOo

"I apologize for that scolding you received," said Wade as he helped Marybeth into her coat. They were all getting ready to leave for the day.

"Don't. It wasn't your fault," she replied, buttoning up.

"By the way, the reason is tradition."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Library Association was originally run by men only, but that changed a long time ago. The name, however, didn't change. People from Atlanta like their traditions." He said this all in a rush, as if he'd had some time to create that speech and memorize it. Which in fact, he had.

Marybeth nodded. "I noticed that. There are no more Confederate orphans, but the Sewing Circle never changed its name, either." She tied on her hat. "I wish I could take books out. They have _Oliver Twist_. I never read it."

"You only have to sign up. Haven't you done that?"

She shook her head.

"It'll only take a moment." Surprising himself with his own boldness, he called out, "Mrs. Merriwether?"

"What is it Wade?"

"I'm going to take Mrs. Dandridge to register for library privileges." And with that he took her to the front desk.

oOoOoOo

From her bed, Mrs. Meade heard Marybeth coming down the hallway humming "Grandfather's Clock". A moment later Marybeth herself appeared in the doorway with a supper tray. She set it on the bureau and touched Mrs. Meade's forehead with the back of her hand.

"You're still feverish."

Mrs. Meade tried to answer but was overcome with a coughing fit. When she was finished, Marybeth fluffed her pillows and sat her up straighter. That seemed to help her breathe easier. Then Marybeth put the tray across her lap.

"Betsy said it was storming."

Marybeth nodded. "It was so bad outside Mrs. Merriwether sent us all home at the same time--even Beau Wilkes and Wade Hamilton and they came late."

Mrs. Meade looked at her sharply. Marybeth's voice changed ever so slightly when she mentioned the two young men. Actually, if Mrs. Meade hadn't known Marybeth so well, her change of tone might have gone unnoticed.

"I rather liked the work," Marybeth continued. "The library has so many books I'd like to read eventually. I even took one out." Now it was Marybeth's turn to look at Mrs. Meade sharply. "You're not eating. What will the Doctor say if you starve?"

Mrs. Meade dipped her spoon into her soup. "You registered at the library, then?" She took a sip, swallowed, then coughed again. When she finished, she continued. "That was an oversight on my part. I should have registered you a long time ago."

"Don't give it a second thought. Wade Hamilton was kind enough to help me."

Mrs. Meade looked at her in surprise. He must have felt very comfortable with Marybeth to spend time with her in a situation where he had to talk with her alone, even if Marybeth and Ella were close friends. And was that the barest trace of a smile playing upon Marybeth's lips? Of course, it would be silly to make too much of a little friendly gesture. And just like on the night of the dance when she showed Mrs. Meade her card and told her everything that happened, Marybeth was acting transparently clear without coyness or evasion. Mrs. Meade decided not to make any comment. If there were the beginnings of a friendship between Marybeth and Wade, she didn't want to spoil it for them by some premature or untoward comment.

oOoOoOo

It was in the early hours of the morning that Marybeth awoke abruptly, heart pounding...


	23. honeysuckle 10

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Thanks for the reviews—I don't know what I would do without my lovely audience!!!

Marybeth's eyes flew open as she awoke with a start, heart pounding. She turned her head to look out the window and it was still dark, no sign of the dawn in evidence. She propped herself on one elbow as she listened for the sound of her children's breathing--Edward on his cot, Christina in her crib. Then she lay back and put her hands to her burning cheeks to cool them.

It had only been a dream--thank goodness for that! She felt herself flush again as she sighed and rolled over. Only a lifelike, vivid, and utterly unrespectable dream--that Wade Hampton Hamilton was in--and herself.

She buried her face in her pillow and rocked her head from side to side, trying to forget the dream, trying to banish the dream images from her mind. She was grateful nobody could see her now, or read her mind--as ashamed as she was for having such thoughts, albeit unbidden. For even if she wanted a beau--which she didn't--Wade wouldn't be her first choice. Oh, she liked him--he was polite and a gentleman and she had even been able to draw him out into conversation. But he was also head over heels in love with Elsie. And Marybeth had to concede that she would have a very hard time winning anybody away from her. Marybeth knew she herself was pretty, but she wasn't anywhere near Elsie, who was accounted as a great beauty.

And it didn't matter anyway. Marybeth was still in love with William--yes, she was--whom she hadn't seen in over a year--and would never see again--she pushed that last thought back.

Sleep was a long time coming. It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream. But every time she started to drift off, the memory of it came drifting back to her. Wade was smart and could talk horses and was a nice looking boy, she'd think to herself, in that half-tamed state between sleep and wakefulness, then blushed hotter.

_Better get rid of those thoughts_.

After dozing off and on restlessly for the rest of the night, morning finally came and Marybeth was relieved. Now she could busy her mind and her hands with her chores. She got up to see that the weather had shifted overnight and the day dawned bright and sunny. The ground was damp, but there was no evidence of the previous day's storm, aside from fallen tree branches.

To her dismay, however, try as she might, the memory of the previous night's dream wouldn't leave her. Whatever task she turned her hand to, Wade's face rose up before her. This made her restless and jumpy, or else she fell into daydreams.

Mrs. Meade noticed her mood immediately when Marybeth brought her breakfast tray. The girl said and did all the correct things, but it was plain that her mind was wandering elsewhere. Although she was curious, after some internal debate, the older woman decided not to pry. After all, everybody was entitled to some privacy. She just had to trust that if it were anything serious, Marybeth would come to her.

However, Dr. Meade did comment. Marybeth was in his study finishing the last of the patients' records. He would be moving his practice into his new quarters soon and was anxious to have everything ready and shipshape.

"I thought the records would be finished by today," Dr. Meade chided her gently when he walked in on her to catch her staring into space, pen in hand.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said jumping. "I'll stay right here until they're done."

"Is anything wrong, Dandridge? You've been exceedingly distracted all day."

Marybeth shook her head. "I just--I don't know," she mumbled miserably.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you take a break from this for a little while?"

"No--oh no. Give me another chance--I'll work faster," she begged, anxious to redeem herself.

"I'm not punishing you, girl. I just think you need to turn your attention to something else. Maybe it will clear your head. Why don't you see if Betsy needs anything in the kitchen?"

Marybeth pulled a wry face. "Betsy doesn't want me--I burned the oatmeal this morning."

"I wondered what that smell was. Well, never mind. Go take the children for a walk."

"But the records..."

"...Can wait another day. Now go."

So Marybeth did as she was told. But the fresh air and sunshine did nothing to dispel the fog in her brain or alleviate her restlessness. She listened with half an ear to her children's prattle and managed to answer them back, but she scarcely knew what she said. The same with the people she greeted as they walked--and if they thought Marybeth Dandridge was absentminded, well, so be it. There was nothing she could do about it.

oOoOoOo

That night Marybeth was in the main bedroom, engaged in a friendly quarrel with Mrs. Meade, who had been given something to relieve her cough and was now propped up and talking comfortably.

"You need me here, Mrs. Meade. I couldn't possibly go out."

"Haven't you been invited to Beau Wilkes' house tonight? It would be rude not to go."

"It's just an informal gathering of some of Beau's friends," replied Marybeth dismissively. "It's not a dinner party or anything where I would be missed. Therefore, I thought I'd stay home and take care of you."

"Betsy has me well in hand. Besides, you've been so jumpy today you make me nervous," she added reproachfully. Then, as Marybeth opened her mouth to protest: "Oh, don't _argue_ with me. Just go. Go out and enjoy yourself."

So Marybeth turned to go to her room. Even though she had called an evening at Beau's house 'just an informal gathering', Mrs. Meade didn't want Marybeth to miss it. The Wilkes' were top drawer among the Old Guard families and it was an honor for her to be invited. Even if the silly girl didn't seem to realize it.

Actually, Marybeth realized more than Mrs. Meade gave her credit for. She knew Beau Wilkes was the most popular young man of his set. The girls all wanted to be courted by him and no man distained to call Beau his friend. Marybeth had been very flattered by the invitation, especially because it came from Beau himself and not just as a tagalong with Ella. She knew it meant she had won their acceptance. And although she never aspired to be part of their set, and she hadn't felt any lack of it in her life before, it's hard to resist the lure of being wanted and it warmed her heart to know they liked her. She was upstairs finishing dressing when she heard a knock downstairs. She reached the front door just as Betsy was opening it. It was Wade Hamilton. He nodded politely to Betsy, but his hat was off as soon as he saw Marybeth.

"Could Ella and I drive you to the Wilkes'?"

She blinked stupidly for a moment then mumbled, "Yes, thank you," before she turned away to avoid meeting his eyes.

"I'll tell Old Talbot not to fuss wi' dat carridge," said Betsy calmly as she headed back down the hall towards the kitchen.

Marybeth was thankful she had her hat to occupy herself with as she was left alone in the foyer with Wade. She kept her eyes on the mirror as she pinned it on and was devoutly thankful that he couldn't read minds. She would have died of shame if he had any idea of the treacherous turn her thoughts had taken--were taking--despite her best efforts. For the more she tried to suppress those unwelcome thoughts the more compelling they became.

"How are you this evening Mrs. Dandridge?"

Marybeth jumped but wouldn't look at him. "My name is Marybeth," she blurted, staring into the mirror. "Please call me that."

"Oh--uhm--all right..." and he fell silent.

She gave her hair a final pat into place and picked up her reticule. She was too embarrassed to look him in the face.

"I'm ready now."

He escorted her to the carriage block and handed her into the carriage next to his sister. In the dark he couldn't see her blush when his hand touched hers and because she was wearing gloves he couldn't know how sweaty her hands were, either. And in the next minute she scolded herself for her schoolgirl silliness. Did she really expect to go through life without ever being touched by a man? He was only helping her into a carriage, for crying out loud. It was nothing to swoon over. Yet no matter how much she tried to scold herself, she could still feel the pressure of his hand on hers all the way to the Wilkes'.

He swung her down from the carriage in front of the Wilkes residence, and she and Ella went on ahead so they could discard their wraps and hats and check their hair before joining the others.

"What has gotten into you, Marybeth?" asked Ella when they were alone.

"What are you talking about?"

"You've barely spoken a word since you climbed into the carriage. It's not like you to be so moony. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, Ella, how you do run on."

"Well, pull yourself together. We're here to have fun. Thank heaven Mother let me out of the house. It took a lot of convincing to make her believe that my cold was over and done with."

They were met at the door by India Wilkes, who Marybeth had met before. She was a gracious hostess, if not a warm one.

"You know where to put your wraps, Ella," she instructed the girls. Ella moved towards the guest room and Marybeth followed her.

Shortly afterwards they met Beau's father. Marybeth shook his hand briefly and had the impression that she was seeing what Beau would be like thirty years in the future--same build, same smile, same expression. Of course, Mr. Wilkes' hair was faded, and his face lined, but he was a handsome man for all that. But although Beau's courtly ways were reminiscent of his father's, Beau always seemed to be brimming with suppressed energy. Ashley Wilkes' bearing was quite still, like a clock that had run down and stopped. If he took an interest in anything in life, it didn't show on the outside. The only exception was where Beau was concerned. When Beau was anywhere in sight, he seemed to wake up and take an interest in his surroundings--at least as far as it touched his son.

Ashley took a vague interest in Marybeth. He'd heard about her from India and Beau and his impression was that she was a pretty little girl. Brown hair, brown eyes--his favorite combination ever since Melanie. She was even of diminutive stature. But that was where the resemblance ended and he dismissed her from his mind the moment she was out of his sight.

The girls joined their friends in the parlor, and Ella was right. Marybeth did have fun. It was very informal. The conversation was lively, touching on all different topics--books, music, politics, and not a little gossip. The only thing that marred her enjoyment was the presence of Elsie and the fact that Wade was once again dancing attendance on her. For the first time, Marybeth was aggravated by the attention Wade paid to Elsie. It did no good for Marybeth to remind herself that it was none of her business, that Wade had every right to talk to anybody he wanted. And she would have died before admitting she was jealous--so she persuaded herself that her annoyance was merely because she didn't think it was right the way Elsie was stringing him along.

Her attention was partially diverted away from Wade as she found herself talking to a dark, swarthy, rather hairy young man who spoke with a beguiling hint of French in his accent.

"I believe we've met before? But allow me to introduce myself. I am Raoul Picard."

"Marybeth Dandridge--but please just call me Marybeth." After she had allowed Wade to call her by first name, she decided she might as well let everybody else call her that, too. Otherwise, they might think she thought Wade was special.

"So, Miss Marybeth--you probably wouldn't know my family's humble little bakeries."

"Ah, but I do--everybody knows Merriwether Bakeries. Mrs. Meade won't go anywhere else."

"But what do _you_ think, Miss Marybeth?"

"I think your bread is very nice."

He looked at her with exaggerated dismay.

"Nice? Just nice? The finest baked goods in all Atlanta and all you can say is they're _nice_?" He put his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Madame. _Quel dommage_ as they say in France."

Marybeth grinned at his histrionics. "Go on--I'll wager you've never been to France in your whole life."

"Beautiful and saucy," he sighed with the same exaggeration as he'd shown before. Marybeth rolled her eyes now but couldn't hide her amusement. He obviously enjoyed beguiling young women.

But since he had her as an interested audience, he went on to explain how his father's people had owned vast tracts of land along the Mississippi before the War, but now that was gone. He didn't repine, he hastened to assure her. He just liked to tell the story of his family.

While they were talking, Beau brought out a guitar and started to play. Virgie Simmons started to sing:

...The roses all have left your cheek

I've watched them fade away and die

Your voice is sad when e'er you speak

And tears bedim your loving eyes...

Marybeth smiled as she listened to Virgie sing the sad song of Kathleen's yearning for her native Ireland. She had a lovely, affecting voice--the result of years of training. As she looked around the room, she saw that others were enjoying the performance, too.

Then somebody suggested going out back to dance--"After all, it's so warm this evening..." And people started drifting towards the back door.

Raoul turned to Marybeth," Would you care to dance?"

He looked happy when she agreed and he took her hand, leading her out into the yard. He was a good dancer, although a bit too forward for Marybeth's liking--she had to step back to keep a respectable distance between them, but she was pleased that he didn't try to pull her close again. He was a good dancer. She reflected that all the men around here were, not realizing that she herself was improving with practice. As he whirled her around she noticed Wade in the circle around Elsie, as usual, but decided to ignore them. It was definitely not her business, she decided.

But when the song was over and Raoul brought her a drink, Wade suddenly appeared and politely cut in.

"Miss Marybeth? Would you like to dance?" He asked her, feeling awkward about using her first name.

Marybeth could only nod dumbly and follow him on legs that trembled. She thrilled when his hand grasped hers and her heart gave a lurch when he wrapped his arm around her as the music started. She couldn't look him in the eye and so she kept her gaze demurely down as they danced. She couldn't think of anything to say, either, and they danced for a while without talking.

She'd been relatively free of her earlier disturbing feelings as she danced with Raoul, but there was no escaping them while she was being held closely by Wade. She was utterly aware of the way his shoulder felt under her hand and his hand on her back seemed to burn into her skin.

He tightened his arm around her for a quick turn and she came close enough to him to be aware of his scent--a bit of tobacco, a bit of horses, a bit of something else, cologne maybe, but it went straight to her head, making her more dizzy than before. She kept her eyes down as she tried to rein in the unruly thoughts and feelings that were starting to take possession of her--tried to force them into a more respectable vein. But when she felt his arm tighten again, she gave up all pretense of being demure. She closed her eyes and inhaled, savoring the tobacco-horses-cologne essence around him, giving over to the rushing intoxication of being held by him.

But to her immediate mortification, when she opened her eyes, he was looking straight down at her with a curious expression on his face. She lowered her eyes right away, saying nothing. After all, there was really nothing she could say...

Wade looked down at Marybeth as they danced. Her unfocused expression, the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him oh-so-briefly had intrigued him. And the shadowy darkness of the Wilkes' backyard made him bold. One time, and one time only, he brushed his cheek slowly against her hair, reveling in its softness.

To Marybeth's relief (or was it dismay?) the song was over quickly. And as soon as Wade released her and she was alone, Ella accosted her.

She pulled her aside and whispered, "I know why you're so moony tonight. It's my brother you want!"

"Frankie Bonnell looks lonely. You better go talk to him."

Ella grinned. "I'm right, aren't I? Marybeth, do you like Wade?"

"Of course I like him. He's a nice person," she replied primly.

"Oh, please, Marybeth, I want a straight answer."

"And I won't give you one. In case you haven't noticed, Wade has been with Elsie all night."

"That?" She gestured impatiently. "That's just a habit. Besides, he may be with Elsie, but he's been looking at you. Very clever of you, flirting with Raoul--that got Wade's attention."

Marybeth turned to hide a smile, but not fast enough to escape Ella's notice. She promptly pressed her point.

"And furthermore, he mentioned your name over supper last night."

Marybeth turned back to her quickly. "Really? What did he say?"

"Aha! That got a response, didn't it?"

"Don't tease me, Ella," Marybeth begged, grabbing her arm.

Ella softened. "He really didn't say that much. Just that he helped you sign up to take books out of the library." She slipped an arm around Marybeth's waist. "I'd be very happy to see Wade court you."

"But that's up to him, isn't it?" Marybeth asked quietly.

"Partly, yes. But I'd be willing to wager that if you tried just a little..." Ella shrugged and winked.

When the carriage arrived at the Meades' later that night, Ella gave Marybeth's hand a quick squeeze, then she busied herself by fussing with her gloves to try to give her brother and her friend some little privacy as he helped Marybeth out of the carriage and walked her to the door. Their parting at the front door was seemly and decorous--no words were exchanged other than the most conventional and banal. But their eyes met once and Marybeth was finally certain of what she (and Ella) had only guessed at before--she had caught his eye. Of course, she doubted he felt for her the way he felt for Elsie, who he had known and loved for many years, but Marybeth was not a stranger to the look of longing in a man's eyes. She'd been all too aware of when he pulled her a little closer and nuzzled her hair as they danced and just as aware of when he stopped. She'd felt herself drawn to him then and she felt drawn to him now. And with that feeling came a chilly trickle of fear.

That night, lying in bed, she tried to sort it all out.

She had striven, over the last year, to change her life. She never wanted to go back to the lawlessness of her drifting days, to the fighting and stealing and clawing after the necessities of life, and she wanted to be secure enough that never again could a man impose his will on her. She was trying to make her life into something fine and good, something to be proud of, yet sometimes she wondered--those years had left their mark on her, she was sure.

She felt it inside herself--deep down inside her was something very hard and unyielding--and it was all because of those last few years. Because of Miklos she had been driven to fend for herself and she learned to be ruthless. Because of Alex she had learned to hate.

Her children--she would walk through fire for them--she would do whatever it took to protect them. But there was more--she wanted them to be proud of her--not to grow up to be ashamed of her. She didn't want them to suffer any stigma because of the foolish things _she_ had done when she was younger.

As much as she wanted to be a good person--and she really did want it, she was heartily ashamed of some of the things she had done--she wasn't entirely confident in herself--if there were a threat to her or to hers, she wasn't too sure that she wouldn't revert back to the way she was in those lawless days.

So the question remained; was it right to pull somebody else in to the chaos that was at the core of her life? She knew it now--she wanted Wade. When he held her close, it had evoked a response in her--something that belonged to him alone. She'd had fun, in an impersonal sort of way, when Raoul tried to beguile her, and she felt flattered by his attention. And she would have been equally flattered if it had been Joe Whiting or Beau Wilkes. But what she felt in Wade's arms was different, personal. She wanted Wade for himself. And he wanted her. She was sure of it.

Marybeth knew deep down that Ella was right. If she tried hard enough, she could surely make Wade forget about Elsie. But was it right to do that to somebody like Wade Hampton Hamilton? He would probably be better served with some sweet, prissy girl of delicate sensibilities, one he could spoil and pet and protect. He deserved to know who Marybeth really was before she allowed him to fall for her. She knew it, but she cringed from the idea of telling him about what was dark and unworthy in her life.

Hurriedly she tried to reassure herself. Surely, there was no need to confess to him everything she ever did. She barely knew him--only met him a few months ago--it went against reason to tell her darkest secrets to somebody she was only beginning to know--besides, there was every possibility that once they got to know each other better that they would find they didn't agree so well together--if she told him everything now and he went on to jilt her, he would always have this knowledge of her to hold over her head. Not that he seemed to be the type of man who would blackmail a lady, but why take a chance?

And furthermore, she could always tell him--the whole truth--sometime in the future. There was plenty of time, in the future...


	24. honeysuckle 11

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thanks for the reviews--they help keep me focused. Don't be shy!!!**

Scarlett folded the check inside the letter and slipped it into the envelope. Turning the envelope over, she wrote the missive's destination--Careen's convent in Charleston. No--not Careen, but Sister Vincent Michael. The letter was for Sister. The check was a donation for the convent.

Several years previously, when Scarlett Butler and Suellen Benteen decided once and for all to divide their inheritance from their father, it had actually been Suellen's idea to give a donation to the convent. Scarlett had been so shocked at this unexpected burst of altruism from Suellen that she agreed without demur. After all, it stood to reason--had Careen married, there would have been three daughters among whom the O'Hara inheritance would have been divided. Besides, by this time, Scarlett and Suellen had reached a level of prosperity so they could easily afford it. Accordingly, they gave a generous gift to the convent and arranged for Gerald and Ellen O'Hara to be remembered in Masses on their death-days in perpetuity.

And after that, Scarlett would make an occasional donation whenever it crossed her mind to do so. As far as Scarlett was concerned, Careen had been easy enough to forget even when she lived in the world. But now that she had forsaken it and turned nun, well...

Scarlett was ashamed to admit that she could go for months on end and never give her littlest sister a passing thought. But once in a while she would write a letter to Sister Vincent Michael. And even less frequently she would receive a reply. The Rule of her convent was strict, even by cloistered standards--the nuns were encouraged to engage in spiritual exercises rather than in letter writing. But Scarlett saved every one of the letters she received. They reflected their writer--dreamy and otherworldly. But Sister had a knack, all unknowing--for Scarlett had never hinted of her problems with Rhett--of slipping in little proverbs and sayings that touched Scarlett and seemed to carry strength and comfort with them. Scarlett wasn't sure she even believed in God anymore. She had absorbed Rhett's skepticism in proportion that Ellen's teachings had slipped away. The rare times Scarlett thought of Him, it was as a vague, impersonal First Cause. But all the same, it pleased her to know that somewhere in a convent many miles away, some devout little nun was watching and praying for _her_.

From downstairs she heard the parlor door open and the sound of Ella and Frankie Bonnell in conversation as she walked with him to the front door. Frankie had been a frequent visitor to the mansion lately, and at first Scarlett had dismissed it as a continuation of the childhood friendship between them. But then it became apparent, that on Frankie's side at least, there was more than mere friendship. Scarlett saw the way he looked at Ella and with a feeling of shock, understood everything. She had seen that look directed at herself many times...

Scarlett didn't have anything against Frankie, any more than she had anything against Albert. They were both nice young men and she would respect Ella's choice when the time came that she would have to choose. But the shock came from the idea of Ella behaving like a belle, juggling beaux--quite unexpected. But it rather pleased Scarlett. She always carried a little kernel of fear, from something Rhett had said to her years ago--that she had not ensured Wade's and Ella's places in the social life of Atlanta. It was true, she hadn't. But by sheer luck, rather than design, they weren't doing so poorly. Probably what saved them was their close friendship with Beau Wilkes. Sometimes it seemed to Scarlett that Melly was reaching from beyond the grave, helping her children like some benign guardian angel or patron saint. And as they grew into adulthood it was becoming apparent the type of people they came from--at least on their fathers' sides. Yes, it seemed they would both do all right after all.

Scarlett rose from her desk, stretched and sighed. She would mail the letter tomorrow, but perhaps she could intercept Ella before they both went to bed. She wanted to talk to Ella about the Frankie-Albert triangle she was enmeshing herself in, but she was reluctant to pry. Therefore, she wasn't entirely sorry to hear Ella's bedroom door shut for the night. Of course, Scarlett could always just knock--Ella had never been secretive, but it had always been Scarlett who had to initiate personal conversations. She knew from experience that Ella would never refuse to answer any direct question. Well, there was always tomorrow...

Scarlett went downstairs to bid good night to the servants. Pork was there, of course. Then Dilcey--dignified Dilcey who always carried herself like a queen. She still kept house for the Wilkes', but she came home to the mansion every night to be with her husband. Next was Prissy, who had no more wit than she had at the age of twelve. Big Sam had been sent to Tara as caretaker--necessary now that the Benteens no longer lived there.

And of course, Atlas. Always Atlas.

Scarlett wasn't even sure herself what possessed her to call her dog _Atlas_. But one day the name popped into her head, popped out of her mouth, and stuck. She didn't even really like the name. But there it was, and there he was named. And every time he saw his mistress, he would go into ecstasies of delight, wiggling, crouching, yipping happily until Scarlett would condescend to give him a few pats. She and Pork had trained him to be quiet on command, and while she spoke a few words to the servants about tomorrow's tasks, Atlas wiggled at her feet, struggling with all his strength not to bark. Instead, he made the most peculiar little squeaky noises, as if he were trying to refrain from barking with all his doggie might.

But at last she was finished with the servants, and she reached down to pat the dog. When she looked up, she was astonished to see Pork leaving the room.

"Pork," she called.

"Yas, Miz Scarlett?"

"Pork, aren't you forgetting something?"

Pork shook his head slowly and frowned as if trying _very hard_ to remember something _very important_. "No'm, I ain' forgettin'." But Scarlett could swear he had a gleam in his eye.

Scarlett crouched down and gave Atlas a little shove. "Atlas needs to be 'walked' and put to bed."

"Oh, Miz Scarlett, I done walk him already."

_What was going on here?_ Behind him, Dilcey was looking away, giving every indication of being minutely fascinated with the wallpaper, but she was forcing back a smile.

"And now you expect him to shut himself up in the back room?" Asked Scarlett sarcastically.

"Why Miz Scarlett, don' be silly. I jus' thought I saves you the_ trouble_."

Dilcey was grinning widely now and Pork's lips twitched.

"Pork..." Scarlett warned.

"Well, Miz Scarlett, it's like this. Ev'y night you says 'Pork, put this dawg to bed'. An' I does that. Then, jest about midnight or thereabouts, he starts whimperin' and cryin'. And we hears you, Miz Scarlett. We hears you scurryin' down the stairs and you takes him upstairs wid you. So," he paused dramatically. "I thought I saves you the trouble."

"Why Pork," she said indignantly. "You and I both know I'm only doing that until he stops howling at night. It's only temporary."

"Of course, Miz Scarlett," replied Pork with false humility.

Scarlett put her hands on her hips. "I'm doing this for _you_, for all of us. So we can sleep!"

"Yes indeed, ma'am."

"I am! I am!"

At this, Pork could no longer contain himself. He chuckled, then broke into loud laughter. Dilcey joined him.

"Well, I never," Scarlett fumed, deeply insulted.

"Oh, Miz Scarlett," Pork gasped, wiping his eyes. "Don' you be mad, now. We was jus' havin' fun. I'll shut him up fo' you."

Scarlett handed Atlas over to Pork without another word. But their eyes met and Scarlett was unable to remain serious under the humor she still saw in his face. Quite surprising herself, Pork, and Dilcey, she suddenly started laughing as hard as they had. Loud and long she laughed and it felt _good_. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed over anything, but little by little she calmed down, gasped and said, "Never mind, Pork. I'll just take him upstairs with me now."

Pork and Dilcey threw each other knowing grins. Scarlett didn't care.

oOoOoOo

Marybeth didn't see Wade for a while after the night at the Wilkes'. Not that she expected--well actually, she wasn't sure what she expected. She thought about him a great deal and went about her tasks with a happy, quiet satisfaction and only daydreamed occasionally.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear the girl was lovesick," remarked the Doctor to his wife one night.

Mrs. Meade shrugged but said nothing. Marybeth promised to tell her if she were sparking anybody. She simply had to trust that Marybeth would tell her as soon as there was something worthwhile to tell. But she couldn't help thinking that Wade Hamilton would be a good match for her. He was a gentleman and had the money to support her properly.

As for Marybeth, the self-doubt that plagued her that night after the Wilkes' seemed to have evaporated like fog under the hot sunshine. Someday she would tell him everything if necessary, but there was no need to torture herself _now_, after all. Besides, she was busy with her chores and housework, her children and Mrs. Meade.

Mrs. Meade progressed well and the Doctor was pleased. Bronchitis could be a perilous thing at her age. Her health was reasonably good to start with, but she simply didn't have the stamina of a young woman. But the day came when he let her out of bed for a while, and eventually she was allowed downstairs for longer and longer times.

Mrs. Meade's friends came to visit--a steady stream of lady callers were in and out of the Meade residence. They inquired after her health and they would discuss endlessly all the illnesses that were going around Atlanta. Marybeth never understood the fascination old people had with illnesses and dying and found these conversations rather morbid. But Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Whiting and all those ladies of that age found them endlessly intriguing. Sometimes Mrs. Meade would praise Marybeth's care of her to these ladies, but that only made the girl uncomfortable. She didn't want compliments. She took care of Mrs. Meade partially because it was her job. But she also took care of Mrs. Meade because she liked her and was fond of her. But no praise was necessary.

Marybeth didn't know that Mrs. Meade's friends were inclined to be indulgent when they listened to these compliments. They weren't blind to Mrs. Meade's growing attachment to the girl and they understood. She had suffered the worst losses of all of them in the War--both her children. If Marybeth stood in for Phil and Darcy in Mrs. Meade's mind and brought her solace in her old age, her friends were willing to go along. And Marybeth had been very well behaved in these later months.

oOoOoOo

Elsie Wellburn sat in her mother's parlor long after all her beaux had gone home and picked savagely at her cuticles. Something was different lately--things had changed recently--and they weren't the types of changes Elsie liked.

She should have been savoring the evening that just passed. She had been "at home" to her friends, and a couple of girls had been to visit and nearly a dozen beaux. There had been laughter and lively chatter and two of her young men had stayed quite late, each trying to outstay the other, each hoping for some time alone with her. It was a triumph for her--but then, Elsie was used to triumphs.

But no--things were different. Take Frankie Bonnell, for instance. He was conspicuous by his absence. Not that Frankie had been her most ardent suitor by any measure--he enjoyed flirting with any unattached girl too much. But lately she had seen a change in him--he seemed to be drawing closer to Ella Kennedy. Frankie, who was almost as sought-after as Beau Wilkes! What could he possibly see in plain little Ella? But it seemed to be true.

And Beau Wilkes. She could excuse his absence tonight. It was the middle of the week and he was at school. He would probably be home this weekend--he nearly always came home the weekends. But even Elsie's vanity couldn't convince her that he came home to see her. If only she could make him come home for her.

But the most galling of all was Wade Hampton Hamilton. Yes, he had come tonight. Yes, he still looked at her admiringly. But there was a difference now. He no longer looked at her as if she were the center of his universe. He was quiet, as always, still polite as was his wont, but he didn't try to maneuver for a place near her, and there were several times she was positive that he wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. Admittedly, they were times when she was addressing her beaux all at once, but there was a time not that long ago that he would hang on her every utterance, whether it was addressed to the group at large or spoken to him alone.

Elsie knew exactly where to put the blame there--Marybeth Dandridge. She'd seen them dancing together under the trees, and there'd been no mistaking the early, tender bond developing between them.

Ella hadn't greatly overshot the mark when she said Wade's infatuation with Elsie was a type of habit. But Elsie had her own habits, too. Even though she had no intention of choosing Wade, he had been so reliable of a beau that she assumed she had his undying devotion. To lose this devotion to a nobody of unknown antecedents like Marybeth was more than Elsie could bear...

oOoOoOo

Marybeth was invited to the Picards for a party. Almost, she was growing weary of the constant round of dances and socials. She had always preferred the company of a few close friends--large groups tended to intimidate her and make her feel as though she were on display--but before her arrival in Atlanta she had never known people like this who had such an endless appetite for parties.

But at the same time she hoped to see Wade there. And as soon as she arrived, Ella sought her out and told her he had to stay late at the office, but he did plan to be there as soon as he could get away. And in due time, she heard his voice in the foyer--Raoul had opened the front door to him and she could hear them talking. She hurriedly patted her hair and smoothed her skirt. She was already sitting in a group with Ella and Jenny (whose exquisite politeness to each other did not mask the fact that their feud was still going on) and a few others. Marybeth did not want to look too eager by jumping up to greet him, but she still wanted his first sight of her to be a pretty one.

But before she could even make eye contact with him, Marybeth watched as Elsie swooped down on Wade, taking his hands, smiling up at him, batting her eyelashes. Marybeth was too far away to hear what they were saying, and she decided she didn't even want to know. She was aware of a painful, sharp clenching in the pit of her stomach. She'd felt it before--the night at the Wilkes'--but she was _not_ jealous--not she! She would not own to such a petty emotion as jealousy. Wade didn't belong to her, after all, any more than she belonged to him. No words had been spoken between them, they had made no agreements. Their tie was a very tenuous one--a meaningful look, a tender moment while dancing. For all Marybeth knew, Wade had been moonlighted into looking at her the way he had. But no matter how things stood, she wasn't going to make a fool of herself by openly competing with Elsie. Concealing her emotions, she kept her attention on the friends she was with.

Ella caught Marybeth's eye and tried to telegraph a message of reassurance, but Marybeth didn't want reassurance. She tossed her head and smiled at the young man sitting on her right.

He said his name was Dante Martin, and that he was a cousin of Raoul Picard visiting from out of town. He sat next to Marybeth and chattered on about his family's wealth and connections. She thought he was rather conceited. Raoul was given to boasting of his family connections, too, but in the next minute he could turn it aside with a little joke. But Dante seemed inordinately pleased with himself. On the other hand, his chatter kept her from having to be too aware of Elsie's flirtation with Wade.

At one point Marybeth heard Elsie's tittering laugh and turned her head away as she felt her cheeks flame up. Marybeth was grateful that she was seated so as to be a little turned away from Elsie's group--her self-control was being strained as it was.

"Mademoiselle Marybeth, are you feeling well?" Dante asked with concern in his voice.

"Oh," Marybeth said, gesturing vaguely. "It's rather hot in here. The lamps, the people..."

"Allow me to take you outside for some fresh air?"

Marybeth nodded. She stood up and wavered uncertainly. The night was chilly and she should get her wrap. Mrs. Meade would never approve of her going outside for air at night in just her party dress--she might catch her death of cold. However, to get to her wrap she would have to pass by Elsie and see her smug face. Hoping Mrs. Meade would forgive her just this once, she left with Dante through the other door. He led her across the hall to the dining room, and opened the double doors that led to the back yard. He handed her down and she fanned herself, relieved to be away from everybody else.

"You are feeling better, I hope?" Dante asked.

"Yes, thank you," she answered as she sighed and closed her fan.

They strolled in the little garden for a bit and Dante continued to talk to her and Marybeth listened with half an ear. The cold air felt good against her bare arms and flushed face. She was trying to force herself to feel calm and reasonable and this effort took most of her concentration. But she nodded and murmured "yes, of course" at appropriate intervals.

She was only barely aware of the lull in his conversation, but her attention was drawn up shortly when he murmured a few words to her that she didn't understand--he was speaking in French. However, Marybeth realized uncomfortably, his _meaning_ was clear. It became even more clear when he took her hand and kissed it. She pulled her hand away and tried to lighten the mood with a little laugh.

"I'm feeling much better now, Dante. We can go back to the party." And she turned to head back into the house.

But her progress was checked when he grabbed her arm, embraced her roughly and kissed her full on the mouth. And with some horror she realized that he was rather far gone in drink--she could taste it in his kiss and she could smell it on him.

Revolted, she pushed him away. "Have you lost your mind?" She demanded as she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand and pulled back her other hand to slap him.

He blocked her arm easily, grabbing her wrist. "Why else did you bring me out here, mademoiselle?" His tone was one of surprise, but she heard a smirk in his voice.

"Me!--bring you out here!" She yanked and yanked, but he wouldn't let go her arm.

"Now, don't pretend to be angry."

She tried to wrench her arm away, but he held it in a strong grip. "Let go of me! Let go this instant or I'll scream."

He grabbed her other arm and pinned them both against her sides. "No you won't. You won't want this to get around. And besides, you did come here with me alone of your own free will. Everyone saw you leave with me. And everyone will think you wanted this, too."

"They will not," she hissed as she struggled to free herself.

"It's your word against mine. And they've all known me much longer than they've known you."

Marybeth's mind worked feverishly. Surely that couldn't be true, could it? Would everybody really think she wanted Dante, like this, in the back yard? Looking around quickly she realized they were behind the Picard's shed-- and out of sight of the house. So angry was she at Elsie and so jealous she hadn't paid attention to where Dante was leading her. Marybeth hadn't been this careless in a long time--and now she was paying for it.

He pushed her back against the wall of the shed none too gently, and she hit the back of her head against it, dazing her momentarily. He pressed against her then and buried his face roughly against her throat.

She realized this was no longer a game. He was serious--and of what he meant to do she wanted no part. She started fighting him like a thing possessed, struggling to get away, trying to hit him, trying to kick his shins or stomp on his feet, her mind incapable of any thought other than _not again--never again_.

Suddenly she remembered something her friend Ester had advised her once, something she could do if a man got fresh with her. Marybeth hadn't quite believed her at the time, didn't see how it would work, but now in her desperation decided to try it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she steeled herself and with all her might brought her knee upward...

She didn't know if she hit her target or not, but all of a sudden Dante was yanked off her. Marybeth had a glimpse of Wade Hampton grabbing her attacker before she slid strengthlessly to the ground, rocking with her hands over her face. She heard rather than saw the two men fighting. Then she heard a familiar voice.

"Wade, what's going on?"

"Ella, take Miss Marybeth into the house."

Ella did as she was asked and helped Marybeth to her feet. Frankie Bonnell was Marybeth's other elbow, but she shrank from his touch. Over her head, Ella shook her head at Frankie and slipped an arm around Marybeth's waist. She took her into the house and sat her down in one of the chairs at the dining room table. She didn't like how Marybeth looked, white to the lips and shaking.

"Are you hurt, Marybeth?" Ella asked.

Marybeth was trembling violently now, but she shook her head. She hitched her dress back up over her shoulder and smoothed down her bodice.

"What can I do?" Asked Frankie, who had followed the two girls inside. Wade and Dante were still in the yard, but Wade had gotten the better of him.

_You can go away and stop __**looking**__ at me_, thought Marybeth.

"Frankie, you better get Mr. Picard and bring him here."

"Bring Rene Picard, not Raoul." Wade said. He was standing in the doorway now, and he had Dante firmly by the upper arm.

Marybeth turned away from Wade, too embarrassed to be seen by him. This was a Wade she had never seen before, taking control, calmly and confidently giving orders. But she was too distraught to think it all through.

Frankie nodded and went to find Mr. Picard. _He_ had seen Wade like that before. As a boy Frankie had fought Wade--because he said Captain Butler had never fought in the War. Frankie won that fight, but not by much. Joe Whiting had flat-out lost when he fought Wade. They were all friends now, but Frankie knew that Wade, for all his outward calmness, would fight if provoked sorely enough.

When Frankie left, Wade ordered Dante into one of the chairs at the edge of the room and crouched down by Marybeth.

"Are you hurt, Miss Marybeth?"

Marybeth refused to look at him. If Dante were right and Wade thought she had invited such treatment, she couldn't bear to see it in his eyes. But she shook her head, _no_.

"You see?" Dante yelled, angrily. "She says it herself she wasn't hurt."

"Shut your filthy mouth, Dante," ordered Wade quietly, but there was no mistaking the anger in his voice. He was gentle when he spoke to Marybeth. "You don't want to stay for the rest of the party, do you? Ella will get your wrap for you and I'll take you home." When Marybeth looked at Ella fearfully, he hastened to reassure her. "She'll come with us, won't you, Ella?"

Marybeth reached up and pulled Ella to her. "I don't want anyone to know about this," she whispered to her. "I don't want people talking about me. If you leave too, it will look odd. You stay."

"Are you certain?" Ella asked, worried for her friend.

Marybeth nodded, but she still wouldn't look at Wade. Ella left to find Marybeth's wrap. As soon as she stepped out of the room, Frankie returned with Mr. Picard. Rene took in Marybeth huddled miserably in one chair, Dante in another. Both Wade and Dante sported colorful bruises. But before either one could talk, Ella came racing back in with Marybeth's wrap.

"I'm taking Marybeth Dandridge home," Wade stated. "Frankie, would you tell Mr. Picard what happened?"

Wade took her out the back entrance so she wouldn't have to face the curious stares of the other guests. She was still white faced, but she walked steadily enough and he didn't offer her his arm, didn't attempt to touch her in any way as they walked silently through the streets.

She was nauseous, ashamed. Wade kept a careful distance from her, and she didn't know if it was because he believed she was innocent and didn't want to frighten her further or because he now found her so distasteful that he didn't want to touch her even to help her across the street. She didn't want to give him the chance to distain her, so she didn't attempt to talk to him. And he was quiet, too, as they walked.

Wade guided her through the dark streets of Atlanta to the Meades' home. Outwardly he was calm and courteous, but inwardly he was seething with wrath.

Wade possessed a deep vein of chivalrous sentiment. Although he hadn't even admitted it to Uncle Rhett, one of his reasons for taking up law was his belief in the idea of justice. He hoped to set aside part of his practice to defend the poor--those who had no legal recourse against unscrupulous people who would try to cheat or defraud them. He hated bullies with the deepest contempt and grew angry when he heard stories of the terrible things some persons were capable of doing to those they deemed weaker than themselves--such as the mistreatment of children or the outraging of women.

He had heard some ugly stories from Dante--this wasn't the first time he had visited his Picard cousins in Atlanta, but it was the first time Marybeth would have met him. Wade was not so prudish that he couldn't laugh at a coarse joke told among grown men. But when voices grew quiet and sly, and the conversation turned to this or that girl, then Wade grew uneasy and refused to participate in such talk. He knew that Beau didn't like that type of talk, either. Things he could laugh at in general were much more offensive when they were about a particular person--or persons.

Raoul shrugged these stories off.

"Cousin Dante has always been a bit of a braggart," he would assert, with a tinge of contempt in his voice. Wade deemed that Raoul wasn't overly fond of his cousin.

Nor was Wade overly analytical about human behavior, but he knew his distaste for tale mongering stemmed from that time long ago. As he walked in silence with Marybeth, his mind wandered back in time--he had been at or around the age of ten when he overheard two of his mother's wealthy white-trashy friends gossiping. They either didn't realize Wade was in hearing distance, or they didn't see any reason to keep such talk away from young ears. But they had been discussing how his mother had been caught _with_ Uncle Ashley. And the women gave each other knowing looks.

Wade didn't fully understand the implication of this conversation until much later, and then he burned with shame for her. He hoped it was just idle gossip, and if anybody had said anything directly to his face, he would have fought for his mother's honor regardless of the facts. But sometimes he wondered...Mother had always been an enigma to him. She wasn't quite like the other mothers, she wasn't cuddly and warm, she wasn't like Aunt Melly, for instance. And although he hated to admit it to himself, there were other signs that pointed to some truth in that rumor.

For instance, Mother had become very "sick" shortly after the rumor started. Wade knew now that "sick" was a euphemism for private female ailments that weren't discussed in mixed company. Maybe she had been pregnant and miscarried--that happened sometimes, that a baby died long before it was supposed to be born. And then there was the business about his mother's and stepfather's separate bedrooms. Uncle Rhett was a man of lusty appetites. It seemed very unlike him to accept such a living arrangement.

However, Wade didn't like to dwell on _that_ for too long.

Wade carried the knowledge of this rumor in a little compartment in his mind and purposefully avoided thinking about it whenever he could. What the truth of the matter was, somehow he didn't really want to know. But he fervently hoped that Cousin Beau never heard about it. Beau idolized his father and Wade didn't know what it would do to him to suspect that Uncle Ashley had ever been untrue to Aunt Melly. At the very least, Beau would never hear about it from him.

Wade peered over at Marybeth as they walked. He liked her, respected her, was even starting to care for her. He was concerned when he saw the interest Dante was taking in her and concern turned to worry when he saw her leave with him--when they didn't return in a reasonable amount of time, Wade followed them. He was wrung inwardly when he thought about her trying to fight Dante off on her own. She was no match for Dante--unless she managed to escape, she would not have been able to fend him off forever. Her talk and behavior was modest and ladylike--Dante had no call to treat her like--well, like one of Belle Watling's girls...

Marybeth was outwardly calm, but she wondered sadly if Wade would ever respect her, or care for her now. A shaft of pain and sorrow shot through her and she struggled to blank all thoughts of Wade out of her mind. She didn't want to care for him if he didn't care for her…


	25. honeysuckle 12

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thanks for the reviews--they help keep me focused. Don't be shy!!!**

The Meades were both awake and waiting in the parlor for Marybeth, but they were surprised to see her home early and with Wade. He drew the Doctor into the hallway for a whispered conference while Marybeth took a chair next to Mrs. Meade in the parlor and put her head in her hand.

"Dandridge? A word with you please?" Dr. Meade called from the foyer.

Marybeth followed the Doctor into his study. He motioned her into a chair and quietly said to her, "Tell me everything that happened between you and this Dante. And," he took her chin gently, "no hysterics."

She looked up into his face--his expression was concerned, but kind. His matter-of-fact demeanor strengthened her and although she couldn't help blushing, she was able to briefly and truthfully tell everything that had transpired. She noted that he grew angrier during her recitation, but his anger was not directed at her.

"Very well, Dandridge, I'm going to go have a talk with this young man myself. You'll stay with Mrs. Meade."

And with that he brought Marybeth to Mrs. Meade, who was talking to Wade. After he whispered a few words in his wife's ear that made her gasp and look at Marybeth, both men left.

Marybeth and Mrs. Meade sat alone in the parlor, neither looking at the other, neither speaking. But at one point Mrs. Meade sighed heavily.

"Help me to bed, Marybeth."

Although Mrs. Meade was allowed up and out of bed, she was still very weak. She became out of breath easily and coughed at very little provocation. Marybeth took her upstairs and helped her get ready for bed.

After Mrs. Meade was tucked in, she said, "Stay a moment, I want to talk to you."

Marybeth pulled a chair to the older woman's bedside and sat in it. Lowering her head, she said, "I think I know what you're going to say--that it was very foolish of me to go off alone with Dante Martin and I mustn't ever go off alone with a man again."

Mrs. Meade looked at her speculatively for a while. Then she answered her, speaking slowly as if she wanted to choose her words carefully.

"Actually, Marybeth, there are two answers to that. First, I'll advise you as I imagine your mother would have if she were here. The reason we have chaperones is to guard you girls against just this sort of thing happening. Marybeth, you're not a wide-eyed innocent--you know how men are, and you know what they're capable of. But as long as you are being chaperoned, you don't have to worry about a man acting too forward with you. That is what your mother would say--that you shouldn't go off alone with a young man."

Marybeth's head was still lowered. Mrs. Meade took a deep breath and plunged back in to her recitation. "But speaking as one _woman_ to another--sometimes--well, sometimes you and your young man may--how shall I phrase this?--you may need to talk alone--to _be_ alone--just the two of you without being watched."

Marybeth looked up at her, puzzled. Mrs. Meade glanced away briefly. "Understand that in no way am I giving you permission to discard your morals. But with a young man who you care about and who has _earned_ your trust--your fiancé, perhaps, someday--well, nobody expects to have to watch you at all times. You're still expected to exercise self-control, you see, but you can be allowed some privacy."

Marybeth blushed again, and Mrs. Meade looked away again, both of them uncomfortable. But Mrs. Meade was determined to have her say, and gathering her courage, said, "When the Doctor was courting me, we used to slip away whenever we had the chance. But I knew him for a long time by then and trusted him. And he was a perfect gentleman...yes, you smile, Marybeth, but we were young and in love once too.

"But I need to make this perfectly clear--you shouldn't go off with just any man. If something does...happen, be sure that she will be looked on with greater suspicion than he. We're the ones who are supposed to exercise self-control. It's a chance I took with the Doctor, but as I said, I trusted him..."

"How long were you and the Doctor courting at that time?" Marybeth ventured to ask.

At that moment, Dr. Meade walked into the room to see the two women whispering together. When they became aware of his presence, they both stopped and looked at him almost furtively and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was somehow intruding on something that didn't include him. But what he had to say was very important and he didn't want to be diverted from his purpose.

"I spoke to that pup Dante and he sends his abject apologies. He claims that he only meant a harmless joke and never meant for you to be so frightened."

"A joke!" Exclaimed Mrs. Meade as she grasped Marybeth's arm protectively. "Surely Doctor, you don't believe--"

"I certainly do not believe him. I'm only telling you what he said. He also offered to apologize in person before he leaves tomorrow morning. The Picards are sending him back home."

"No!" Blurted Marybeth, turning pale. "I don't want to see him, not ever again. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to be reminded, I don't..."

"I thought you would feel that way," interrupted Dr. Meade. "So I took the liberty of answering for you. You won't have to see him again."

oOoOoOo

Later that night when they were alone, Dr. Meade related more of the story to his wife.

"At first, Dante tried to claim that Dandridge threw herself at his head..."

"Oh, no!" Exclaimed Mrs. Meade, horrified.

"Yes, he did. But Wade Hampton Hamilton put _that_ story to rest quickly..."

"Did he?"

"Indeed he did. He took up for Dandridge quite eloquently. He explained how he happened upon them and she was fighting with all her might against him..."

"Eloquently, you say? I'm surprised. He barely can string two words together..."

"Will you stop interrupting me? Besides, you're wrong about Wade. He may be bashful with young ladies, but not with other men. Around men, he's no more bashful than I am. And he managed to convince Rene Picard that Dandridge was innocent."

Mrs. Meade lay back against her pillows, exhausted from the night's excitement. "Of course she's innocent. She's hardly the type of girl to tryst with men secretly or behind sheds or in the woods or any nonsense like that."

Dr. Meade grinned suddenly and couldn't help chuckle.

"This is hardly a laughing matter, Doctor."

He shook his head. "I was just thinking about Wade. You should have seen him plead Dandridge's case. I don't think I ever saw him that angry before. Somehow I never thought he had it in him. He's usually so grave and reserved."

"Still waters run deep."

"Yes, yes. I've heard that saying, too. But I haven't always seen it. Sometimes still waters only mean stagnation." Then, changing the subject, "I'm glad she had a defender. He was worried about her, Mrs. Meade. He asked me if I thought she would be alright--he seemed quite anxious about her."

Mrs. Meade only murmured an assent. Until Marybeth told her herself, she didn't want to share her speculation with her husband about the two young people. After all, it was only speculation. But Mrs. Meade would be pleased to see Marybeth settled with Wade. Maybe in time...

oOoOoOo

"Ah hears Mist' Wade tuck up fo' yo' honor'n virtue," said Betsy to Marybeth as they cleaned up after breakfast the next day.

Marybeth turned away, irritated. Was there anything that Betsy didn't eventually hear about? She plunked the dishes in the sink and poured the boiling water over them. Furthermore, she thought, it was a few years too late to save _her_ virtue.

"There was an incident at the Picards' last night," replied Marybeth, stiffly.

"Ah heard."

"I don't really want to talk about it."

Betsy put her hands on her hips. "You don' need t' take dat tone wid _me_, Marybeth. We knowed Dante a long time. We knows he a vahmint."

"Who's _we_?"

"Us black folk. We _knows_ things." And she raised her eyebrow at Marybeth before she went to sweep the floor.

oOoOoOo

Mrs. Meade and Marybeth were in the parlor later that afternoon. Marybeth sat on the floor with Christina and Edward by her. The little girl squatted next to a pile of wood blocks, busily stacking and restacking them. Edward lay on his stomach looking at the animals in a picture book while Marybeth turned the pages.

"We're almost to the end of the book," Marybeth said to Mrs. Meade. "Then I'll go in and set the table for supper."

But at that moment the front bell rang and before Marybeth could get up to answer it, she heard Betsy's footsteps hurrying down the hall.

In the next moment, Wade was ushered into the parlor.

"I can only stay a moment," said Wade as Mrs. Meade motioned him to a chair and Marybeth stood up awkwardly from the floor to take the chair facing him. She looked at him only long enough to nod at him, for she was afraid to see him, she still didn't know what he thought about last night--what he thought about her. So she didn't notice, although Mrs. Meade did, the concern in his eyes.

"Miss Marybeth, do you remember that day in the library? It was snowing and I quoted from Shakespeare?"

Marybeth nodded, a little bewildered at his opening.

"Well, I found the rest of the quote," and he opened a book he brought with him.

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose

Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;

But like of each thing that in season grows

So you, to study now it is too late,

Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate..."

He shut the book then and looked up at her, smiling a little and held it out to her. "There's more, but you can read it for yourself if you like."

When he spoke to her, his voice was gentle and soothing so that her heart ached, afraid to hope. Maybe--just maybe--he didn't blame her, didn't believe that she lured Dante on into an unseemly dalliance with her. And she realized, with some surprise, that he hadn't stammered even once, but seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say. Wade had been like this last night, she remembered suddenly. He hadn't lost his head during the crisis and was able to act calmly and decisively.

Marybeth leaned towards him a little uncertainly and took the book he held outstretched to her. He had marked the page with a little piece of paper.

"Wade, won't you stay for supper?" Asked Mrs. Meade, acting on a sudden inspiration.

He shook his head. "No, I'm expected home. I could only stay a moment."

"I'll walk you to the door," said Marybeth. It was the first time she had spoken to him since that night at the Wilkes'.

Alone at the front door, Wade said, "I thought you might like to read the whole play. It's called _Love's Labours Lost_." Then he paused--she was looking at him so strangely.

But she remembered her manners. "Thank you," she muttered.

There was another silence. Wade was reluctant to force his company on her. She had been through an ordeal, and was still understandably upset. But it hurt him to see her like this, so aloof and distant. He wanted to be strong for her, to be a man she could lean on in her trouble. He would call on her again and soon, he decided. On some pretense or none at all. To make sure she was bearing up.

Marybeth knew she wasn't being very friendly, but she didn't know what to say to him, either. She wished there was a ladylike way to ask him if he blamed her or not, but there wasn't.

"Well..." he said, "Good bye."

When Marybeth returned to the parlor and sat down with the book in her lap, Mrs. Meade pounced.

"What did Wade say?"

Marybeth paused. She felt no reluctance to share her conversation with Mrs. Meade, but she wasn't really sure what just happened. "Well, he just said he thought I'd enjoy reading the whole passage."

"That's it?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mrs. Meade resumed her needlework, but looked at Marybeth slyly out of the corner of her eye. The girl was sitting in the chair next to her, hands folded over the little volume of Shakespeare.

"I do believe Wade cares about you."

Marybeth laughed, but her laughter was strained. "Oh, Mrs. Meade. All he did was lend me a book."

Mrs. Meade proceeded to explain to her, slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a child. "He defended you last night. He took your side. It's clear he holds you completely blameless for what happened with Dante."

"That doesn't mean he cares about me."

"Oh Marybeth, don't you know _anything_?" She asked impatiently. "He went out of his way to see you and make sure you were all right. He was _worried_ about you, in case you haven't figured that out. He cares about you. Depend on it."

Up went Marybeth's feet on the ottoman and she wrapped her arms around her knees. She asked, even though she already knew the answer. "Well...if he did worry about me, why didn't he just come out and say it?"

"He wouldn't want to embarrass you by mentioning something you'd rather forget. He's a gentleman, Marybeth. Not all men are like Dante Martin, you know. Some men are gentlemen."


	26. honeysuckle 13

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thanks for the reviews!!! So encouraging...so encouraging...**

Dante Martin was gone, but not forgotten, although the people who knew about the incident refrained from speaking about it. Raoul was ashamed of his cousin's behavior and didn't wish to air the dirty family linen in public. Frankie Bonnell kept quiet, although he was motivated more by deference to Ella's feelings than Marybeth's. Wade didn't even tell Beau.

There was one person, however, who was shaken by the event and suffered vicariously for her friend's plight. And driven by the need to talk, Ella decided to confide in somebody.

That night, after she arrived home, she changed into her nightclothes and tried to sleep. But sleep eluded her and she got up and paced around restlessly for a while before throwing her wrapper around herself and creeping down the hall to Scarlett's room. She was relieved when her mother invited her in response to her knock. Ella had been worried that Scarlett might be asleep already. She opened the door and slipped in.

Mother was dressed for bed and already under the covers, but she was sitting up, stroking Atlas who was sprawled out on top of the blanket. Ella was displeased to see a half-empty glass of brandy in her mother's other hand, but a glance at the bottle assured her that her mother was still sober enough for conversation. By the looks of it, she had been merely sipping.

In spite of her distress, Ella couldn't help feeling a surge of pride as she looked at Scarlett. She had always been proud of her mother's looks. Scarlett's hair was still completely black, her figure still neat and trim. She had a few faint lines around the eyes and mouth, but compared to all the other mothers she was still pretty and young looking. Ella thought about those other women. Mrs. Picard was attractive still, but she had grown quite stout. Elsie's mother looked faded. Jenny Whiting's mother could only be described as frumpy. Sitting up in bed in her nightdress, hair bound in one long heavy braid, Scarlett almost looked like a quite young girl. Ella thought ruefully that she could have done with some of her mother's looks, but she had other things to worry about right now.

Scarlett looked at her daughter, standing by her bedside wringing her hands. Concerned, she reached over to put the glass down on her bedside table, then patted the cover beside her. Ella climbed up onto her mother's bed and sat Indian style facing her. Atlas thumped his tail lazily on the bed twice. Then, after a moment's hesitation, Ella poured out the story to Scarlett--everything that she knew had transpired.

Scarlett listened to Ella's story with intermittent exclamations of shock and outrage on Marybeth's behalf, but the story bothered her for more than one reason. This was the thing all mothers warned their daughters about and Scarlett was no exception. What had been an abstract possibility, now that it happened to one of her daughter's friends, seemed frighteningly real to her. Scarlett's own attack had occurred when Ella was just a baby. But it didn't seem so long ago to her and now it was Ella who was at the dangerous age.

Faced with the immediacy of the incident and wanting to protect Ella any way she could, Scarlett retreated into motherly council. "That's why I warn you to be careful around young men, not to let them take liberties--let what happened to Marybeth be a warning to _you_, Ella."

"Mother, didn't you hear me?" Asked Ella with an impatient gesture. "Marybeth didn't _let_ him take liberties, he just...did. And besides, when am I ever alone with anybody? Except maybe Cousin Beau when we go riding. But he's away at school all week anyway."

"Well," Scarlett proceeded slowly, "Maybe that's not such a good idea anymore--your exploring the trails alone with Beau. After all it isn't as though you're little children--he's a man nearly grown..."

"Mo-ther!" Ella was genuinely astonished. "Land sakes! You don't suspect _Cousin Beau_. Surely you don't! Why, I've known him _forever_. He doesn't have designs on me, for heaven's sake. He doesn't even see me like that."

"I'll wager Marybeth didn't expect Dante to act the way he did."

"That's different. She didn't know him as well as I know Cousin Beau."

Scarlett took Ella's hand. "But it could happen to you, too. Why do you think I warn you about correct deportment and ladylike behavior and not going around unchaperoned?"

Ella shook her head quickly, genuinely upset, "Mother, I can't believe you're saying this."

Scarlett, seeing her daughter's agitation, decided to change the subject. "Actually, Ella, there is something I've been wanting to talk to you about. Why is Frankie Bonnell coming around all the time? Have you jilted Albert?"

Relieved to be on safer ground, Ella laughed a little bit. "No, Mother, there haven't been any jiltings. Frankie just...well, he asked if he could call on me and I said yes."

"Obviously you did," remarked Scarlett dryly. "But where does that leave Albert? Does he know about Frankie?"

"I haven't told him. I suppose I'll tell him when he comes home in May."

"Unless you want to jilt Frankie first."

Ella seemed to slump a little. "I don't want to jilt Frankie. He's a lot of fun, he makes me laugh and he makes me feel special."

"But Albert...?"

"...Makes me feel special, too. But he doesn't have Frankie's sense of humor. But he's more handsome. Mother, who should I choose?"

"Oh no, Ella," said Scarlett, throwing up her hands in mock dismay, a hint of a smile on her face. "This is your choice. As your mother, I think they're both fine young men. But I will not choose your suitors for you."

"What if Albert becomes angry with me when I tell him about Frankie?"

"He probably will. In fact, depend on it. But if you plan to keep Frankie around until the summer, you'll have to tell Albert. It would be kinder to tell him yourself, rather than have him find out some other way."

"What if Albert makes me choose?"

Scarlett shrugged. This wasn't something she could do for her daughter.

Ella was disappointed. Mother hadn't been much help either, as she was trying to make up her mind.

"Am I doing something wrong by seeing both of them?"

Scarlett laughed shortly. She had had dozens of beaux and had lots of fun stringing them along. But she sensed that Ella took courting way more seriously than she ever did.

"If you're not engaged to either of them, then no, you aren't doing anything wrong. But that doesn't mean there won't be tension between your beaux...or jealousy from other girls."

Ella thought about this. Jenny had certainly grown angry, although not from jealousy. Of course, Albert was her cousin. Then there was Marybeth. She had sown the seeds of doubt and anxiety in Ella's mind, but Ella knew she hadn't meant anything hurtful by it--she merely hadn't been any better at sorting it all out than Ella herself was. Mother refused to give her any real advice, and Ella would have liked the benefit of her experience. She would simply have to decide for herself. And she really didn't want to do that. Not yet.

oOoOoOo

In Scarlett's anxiety over Ella's story, one part of it all didn't quite dawn on her until some time later. But when it did, she remarked upon it.

"Ella told me what happened at the Picard's. I'm proud of you." Scarlett happened to be alone in the parlor with Wade when she said this. She _was_ proud--his actions showed more gumption than she ever gave him credit for.

But he flared up then so that he shocked her with his vehemence. "Of course I had to help her Mother, what else could I do? Oh, if you had seen her, so frightened, trying to fight off his attentions..."

Scarlett stared at Wade as if she'd never seen him before. His emotional outburst by itself was unexpected enough, but she realized something else--he was smitten with Marybeth. Of course, Scarlett had been through calf-eyed love with Wade before in his infatuation with Elsie Wellburn. But this was different. She couldn't quite put her finger on how it was different, but it was different.

Wade never confided his feelings to Scarlett about Elsie, but he didn't need to. It was obvious--everybody knew it and if he never talked about it, neither did he bother to hide it. She wondered if he cared more for Marybeth than he did for Elsie or it were a different kind of feeling altogether. She did know that Wade wasn't the fickle sort. It wouldn't be that easy for him to suddenly transfer his feelings from one girl to another, but she was glad Elsie had some competition.

Wade's infatuation with Elsie had always made Scarlett a little nervous. Most people--and that included Wade himself--didn't think he had a serious chance with Elsie, but one never knew. Nobody thought Charlie Hamilton had a chance with her, Scarlett reflected grimly. But she did marry him--for spite.

She never loved Charlie. She barely even liked him. It was a mercy of fate that he died in camp. Had he come home from the War they would have lived wretchedly together. But she had it in herself to wish for better for Wade. Elsie would never love him, but Marybeth might. And Scarlett had no desire to call any of the Elsing clan kin. It mattered little to her that she didn't know anything about Marybeth's people--after all, they knew little of Will Benteen's people, either, but he and Suellen lived together amiably if not passionately.

oOoOoOo

Outwardly Marybeth regained her calm and composure in fairly short order. Nobody mentioned Dante to her and she never mentioned him either. If she suffered the occasional nightmare or felt jumpy and ill-at-ease in the weeks that followed she concealed it well enough that nobody, not even Mrs. Meade, suspected. It never occurred to her to confide any of her latent fears to anybody--she felt reluctant to make people worry about her.

But the girl was more shaken than anyone realized--secretly she started carrying her old knife in her boot again. But aside from the knife and her maintaining a certain extra vigilance and awareness of her surroundings, even when she was at home, she strove to forget the incident as quickly as possible.

She knew very well that things could have fallen out much worse than they did. When she fought against Dante she was not only fighting for her own self, but also for her children who depended on her utterly--they were all she had in the world who were hers and hers alone. And she was all they had...But then Marybeth came to realize that maybe she was not as alone as she believed. Life was good here in Atlanta with the Meades. She had people who cared about her, and friends, and respectability.

Marybeth decided--with no little amount of spite towards Dante--that she _would not_ allow this one incident to poison everything that was good in her life. _He_ would not have the last word.

oOoOoOo

_Asperges me Domine, hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor..._

Marybeth's hands were clasped in prayer as she listened to the priest and acolytes chant the words of the Asperges--the cleansing prayer of the Mass. She swayed a little on her feet in time to the Latin cadences as the warm scent of beeswax candles and the faint, cool, odor of stale incense drifted around her. Mass had just started and the church and congregation were being sprinkled with the holy water.

In the middle of her prayerful semi-trance something made her turn her head. Across the church she caught a glimpse of Wade and he was looking at her. She hadn't expected to see him, but their eyes locked for a moment before he smiled and nodded slightly. She smiled back but only for a moment before she turned her face towards the altar. But turning her face away from him was easier than turning her attention away from him. Mrs. Meade was certain he cared for her and she held the older woman's assurance to herself like a talisman. Seeing him here today was an unexpected pleasure and she sent up a prayer for forgiveness in advance--it would be very hard for her to keep her thoughts heavenward now...

She didn't dare look towards him again.

However, she wasn't surprised when he caught her up in the churchyard afterward. She was drawing off her veil and pinning on her hat.

"May I walk you home, Miss Marybeth?"

She smiled again and took his arm.

They were out to the sidewalk when she asked, "Aren't Mrs. Butler or Ella going to join us?"

"No, I came here by myself."

"Are they well at home?" She asked, concerned.

"Yes, they're fine," he reassured her. "But Ella likes to sleep late and so does Mother. Or at least she does on Sundays because the store is closed."

"And you go to church all by yourself? What do they think about that?"

Wade paused a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure they even know I go."

Marybeth digested this in silence. It seemed strange to her that his own family wouldn't know he went to church. Of course, Wade was a grown man--it wasn't likely that Mrs. Butler would interrogate him about his whereabouts.

"I must say, it's unusual to see a man your age at Mass without his family. That is," she added demurely, "if I'm not being too forward."

He laughed a little. "There's no big mystery, I assure you. I was baptized when I was a baby, but Mother never went to church, at least that I can remember. Later, Uncle Rhett, my stepfather--I don't believe you've met him--he took Ella and me to the Episcopal Church. But I must confess that I didn't attend at all when I was at Harvard."

"Then why did you start going again?"

"Well...when I made my Grand Tour, I was very impressed with the architecture in Europe, but with the cathedrals especially. We were in Notre Dame de Paris and it struck me how much workmanship had been put into a building with no obvious practical use--its only purpose is for worship. Quite simply, it made me curious to find out more about the type of faith that would inspire people to go to all that effort for no personal gain." He looked at her sideways and grinned. "I hope that didn't sound silly out loud."

"It didn't sound silly at all."

"And, I suppose I was also curious about the culture of my forebears. I'm part French, you know--on Mother's side. Irish, too."

Marybeth shook her head. "I never thought about it deeply like that. I go to church because I like it--I like it when they're chanting and I like it when it's hushed..." She also found it to be a comfort to know that up North in Pennsylvania her parents were listening to the same prayers as she was. But she didn't say that part out loud.

They walked along companionably, enjoying each other's company. He thought how sweet she was walking by his side with her arm linked through his. She wasn't very tall--he could look down at the top of her hat and the way her skirt brushed against him as they walked produced a not-unpleasant tingling sensation in his spine. Their walk was over all too soon--they were standing outside the Meade's door, but before she could let herself in, he took her hands.

"I'd like to call on you some time soon, Miss Marybeth."

"I'd like that, " she smiled happily, giving him that queer feeling again.

"Do you have an evening that you're 'at home'?"

She laughed. "The very idea! Who would I be 'at home' to? The only people I know are the ones Ella introduced me to. If I'm not here, I'm probably with her--and you."

A few minutes later, Mrs. Meade was given the surprise of her life when Marybeth rushed into the parlor, gave her a quick hug and bounced a little on her toes.

"I declare girl, what _has_ gotten into you?"

"Oh, Mrs. Meade, Wade says he'd like to call on me!" And she pirouetted, laughing.

There's probably no more irritating phrase in the English language, no phrase harder to forgive than "I told you so". But Mrs. Meade couldn't resist saying it to Marybeth just this once, and Marybeth in her joy was able to forgive her with no effort at all.

**And thus concludes this part of the Wade/Marybeth arc. Hope you've enjoyed it. Next chappie--Rhett returns to Atlanta!**


	27. morning glory 1

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**You readers are the greatest—so many reviews! I hope you like this story arc, too. Welcome back Rhett.**

Scarlett rubbed her hands together and blew on them to keep warm. She was out back in her own garden, waiting for Atlas to be finished with his business, but to her dismay, he was happily loping along the perimeter of the yard, now sniffing the ground, now sniffing the air.

It was early March and the sun was gaining in strength. No longer was it the weak, distant sun of winter--when it shined full on and the air was still, Scarlett was content to turn her face to the sky and feel its warmth. But the when the breeze blew and the sun passed behind the clouds she hugged herself and thought longingly of her nice warm house and grew impatient to go inside. And it was the type of day that saw more clouds and wind than sun.

She had only bothered to throw on a thin shawl over her dress because she had only meant to be outside for five minutes at the most, but unfortunately, she hadn't counted on the dog wanting to frisk in the brisk, refreshing air.

She stamped her feet and rubbed her arms as she shivered, annoyed at being stranded out here. But she told Pork she would do it, and do it she would.

With a sigh of resignation over the delay in getting back inside, Scarlett wandered slowly up and down the sleeping flowerbeds. She passed dormant roses, hydrangeas, gardenias. All in good taste and none of it of her own choosing. She hired a gardener that had come to her highly recommended and gave him a free hand at the planning and laying out. The results were beautiful. That was all Scarlett cared about.

She lowered herself until she was perched on the little brick wall at the edge of one of the flowerbeds. She folded her hands in her lap and shivered and waited. Then she happened to look down into the flowerbed. There had been rain the previous day and the soft soil was still moist. Without knowing why she did it, she put her hand flat on the cold wet earth and rested it there. Of course, that made her palm dirty, and snorting at her own silly impulse, she tried to brush off the dirt with her other hand, but she only succeeded in smearing it around.

She remembered how it was after the War. By necessity, she had often crouched down on her knees to pull the weeds from the vegetable garden, or stooped to pick cotton. Today she put her hand in the soil again, and pinched a little bit off, feeling its tilth. It was good rich earth, she thought. Of course, she paid enough to have it tended and fertilized to be that way.

Something stirred in her mind. Something was nagging at the edge of her consciousness, something she couldn't quite hold on to. She knelt down at the edge of the flowerbed, feeling the soil with her hands, feeling the kernel of an idea take hold in her brain, expand, grow into life...

Her train of thought was abruptly broken into by Pork.

"Miz Scarlett. Captain Butler done come home."

Her heart leaped at his words and at the same time she felt a rebellious twinge of annoyance that her thoughts had been interrupted. But she straightened up and glanced over at Atlas. He was almost finished his romp.

"Does you wan' me to take ober hyah?"

Scarlett glanced down then at her muddy self. There was dirt on her skirt and hands and probably on her forehead too, where she had brushed hair out of her face. She was about to greet her husband who had been absent for four months looking like a grubby child.

"No, no, Pork. Your hands are clean. Just tell Captain Butler I'll be in directly."

oOoOoOo

Rhett grew tired of waiting for Scarlett in the foyer and felt more than a little put out. She _always_ ran to meet him when he came home. What could be wrong? If she were sick, Pork would have told him right away. What could possibly be so important that she was keeping him waiting?

Rhett barely realized that he was having such thoughts. He was only conscious of a pervasive annoyance at being kept waiting. Of course, he hadn't been left all alone to wait. Ella had run down to greet him and she was chattering happily to him. He didn't expect to see Wade until suppertime when he would come home from the office.

Just as Rhett was about to give up waiting for Scarlett and make his way to his room, she came in to greet him, trotting quickly with a half-grown Labrador at her heels. The dog saw Rhett and bristled defensively with a little growl, but at a sharp command from Scarlett he lay down quietly. However, his eyes never wavered from Rhett.

Scarlett held her hands up, in a gesture of apology.

"I haven't freshened up yet, Rhett--out in the garden, see?--But if you'll give me a moment...?" She paused as though she was waiting for his response.

Not even a proper greeting! Rhett looked at her--her cheeks were crimson from the windy day, her dress was spotted with dirt, her hair disheveled. She even had dirt under her fingernails! But this untidy appearance was no symptom of a mental breakdown. Even as she stood waiting for his answer, he could see the mask come over her face, the one he thought of as the "Great Lady". However, the sparkle in her eyes as she came running in from the yard, the one that was now fading, _that_ was from enjoyment. Scarlett had been enjoying herself without him. And he resisted admitting it to himself, because he knew it was petty, but the idea irritated him.

Rhett nodded and Scarlett swept up the stairs, the dog following her closely. She paused halfway up, turned a little at the waist and called out over her shoulder.

"Shall I meet you in the parlor, Rhett?"

"That will be fine."

She nodded and disappeared into the second floor.

oOoOoOo

"Spain promised them greater autonomy in the truce after the Ten Years War." Wade said over the dinner table to Rhett.

"Yes that's true," Rhett replied, "but she hasn't delivered--not to the degree the Cubans had hoped for."

"Is it true they may abolish slavery soon?"

"It looks likely they will--in the next few years, anyway."

They were all seated around the dining room table that night, Scarlett and Rhett, Wade and Ella. Rhett had been in Cuba these past months and he was regaling them with stories about the things he had seen. Wade enjoyed talking about politics and current news with his stepfather and the two men fell into a rather serious conversation about the world situation.

Scarlett watched with some amusement as Ella's eyes glazed over. The girl didn't even try to follow the men's talk. Scarlett did try, because she thought it would please Rhett, but try as she might, her mind drifted away down its own convoluted paths. She ate quietly and rather automatically, and resumed the train of thought that had begun in the garden.

Rhett saw her faraway look and said, "Scarlett."

But Scarlett, who wasn't even aware that she had stopped her fork midway to her mouth, continued to stare at nothing.

"Scarlett!" Said Rhett, rather severely.

Scarlett jumped and blushed at being caught staring. "Azaleas!" She said, apropos of nothing.

Rhett, Wade, and Ella all peered at her curiously.

Scarlett resumed her composure with the swiftness of years of practice. "I beg your pardon, Rhett. You were saying...?"

"What were you talking about--azaleas?"

"Oh..." and she gave a little polite laugh. "The thought just occurred to me. Perhaps azaleas would be nice in the garden this year. Red, maybe, or dark pink...But enough about that. Please, Rhett, go on. What were you saying?"

At that, Rhett continued his conversation, but he couldn't shake the uneasy conviction that she was only humoring him.

oOoOoOo

The next time Marybeth went to visit with Ella, she met Captain Butler for the first time.

He took her hand politely, but he looked preoccupied and Marybeth knew he was only giving her the most cursory attention. She studied him closely, however. He was the stepfather of her beau, and she couldn't help but be curious about him. He was a distinguished looking man, his hair iron gray, eyes black and piercing. He was tall and broad, not fat, although he had some of the softening common to middle age. But his body still hinted at strength and power. It wasn't hard for Marybeth to see what Mrs. Butler had seen in him and she thought it was a shame that they didn't seem to get along very well. At least according to what all the gossip alleged.

oOoOoOo

Rhett paced in his sitting room--he had been away too long, he realized it now. Actually, he hadn't been away for very long at all, but since the night Melanie died he could not remember that he had ever come back to Atlanta to see such big changes in his family.

First there was Scarlett. She had barely paid him any attention above simple common courtesy. She had to be dragged in from the garden even to greet him. Then there was Wade, relaxed and quietly confident for the first time since Rhett had ever known him. Rhett had known the boy ever since he was a baby and it always seemed to him that he was like a tightly wound coil, ready to spring at any moment, but never quite springing, simply building up more and more tension as time went by. Finally, there was Ella carrying herself with a woman's self-assurance--the kind that comes when she knows she is desirable and wanted--plain little carthorse Ella! She had always been loveable, but now it was easy to see she was _loved_. It seemed to him that they were all changing but he was remaining static.

He left his sitting room, not really sure where he was planning to go, but he had a vague idea that he might saddle up and go for a ride. As he approached the top of the stair, he saw a group of young people standing in the foyer, laughing and chattering animatedly. Several of Ella's and Wade's friends had dropped by while Rhett was upstairs and he was surprised to see that new friend of Ella's--Marybeth something-or-other-- lift a little girl from Prissy's arms and put her in a buggy. But he was even more surprised to see her take a little boy from Wade's hands and settle him in next to the girl. Marybeth smiled her thanks to Wade and although he couldn't hear what the two young people were saying to each other, their easy camaraderie was not lost on Rhett. Wade actually looked courtly as he brushed a curl back from Marybeth's shoulder. The touch was unmistakably a caress and it was clear from her face that she welcomed his attentions. Then he saw Wade lean over and shake hands gravely with the little boy in the buggy.

So that was where Wade's newfound confidence had come from--not from his budding law career, but from that girl. Rhett wished he had looked over Marybeth more closely. His only impression of her was she had a pretty face and figure--but she had not struck him as overly remarkable in any way. Besides, he couldn't reasonably be expected to remember every one of Ella's giggling girlfriends.

The sight of Wade with Marybeth affected him strangely. Rhett had never courted a lady that way. In his rebellious youth, his desires towards women were very simple, and they could be met by the right kind of girl--or for the right price. He and Scarlett had certainly never had a conventional courtship. Sure, he called on her during the War, but he certainly didn't murmur sweet nothings to her--he didn't dare for fear Scarlett would maneuver to get the upper hand over him. But now he found himself wondering what it would have been like--the friendship deepening into love, the tender look over clasped hands, the careful stepwise courtship rituals that everyone else seemed to like. Then he shrugged. It was probably old age creeping up on him and making him sentimental.

oOoOoOo

Later that evening, Rhett went for a stroll in the back garden, where he encountered Ella sitting on one of the benches and staring with a dreamy little smile on her face. Frankie had been especially romantic the last time they were alone together, comparing her to a summer daisy. In her gratitude, she gave him a lock of her hair to remember her by. Of course, she knew her day of reckoning was coming, but May and the end of Albert's school term seemed very far away right now and she was making the most of the time she had left. Rhett looked at her amused for a moment before he broke into her reverie with a little wave. He made as if to sit next to her, but she grinned and jumped up.

"No, no. Let's take a walk, Uncle Rhett." And they meandered slowly towards the back paddock.

"Did you have fun with your friends this afternoon? You were certainly making enough noise," Rhett said gruffly.

"We were? Oh, I'm sorry--hey wait a minute, you're teasing me!" She laughed as he smiled down at her. Ella was gullible enough to make her very easy to tease, but she rarely took offence.

"I was surprised, however, not to see Jenny here," he said idly. They were at the back paddock now, watching the horses. Ella heaved herself up on the bottom rail and swayed gently side to side while holding the top rail.

"And you won't, either. She's not welcome anymore." The harshness in her voice made Rhett look at her, startled.

"Ella, I'm surprised at you. I've never known you to hold a grudge."

Ella's shoulders drooped sadly and she stopped swaying. "We had a fight. It was terrible."

"Why don't you tell me all about it," he said soothingly.

She stepped back down onto the ground. "Jenny _scolded_ me, Uncle Rhett," she cried in tones of bitter anguish. "Scolded me because I let Frankie Bonnell kiss me and..."

"Wait a minute--I thought Albert Whiting was courting you. Did you jilt Albert?"

"N-no, he's still my beau."

"But you let Frankie Bonnell kiss you?" He asked rather sternly.

"Oh, not you too, Uncle Rhett," she said sorrowfully.

"_Oh, yes me too, Uncle Rhett._ I'm your stepfather and it's my job to guide you through the perils of growing up. Now listen to me. You must be very circumspect when it comes to your young men, Ella. I don't care how many suitors you collect, but I do care very much that they don't feel free to take liberties with you."

"Uncle Rhett," she blushed.

"No, Ella, you're old enough to hear this. A girl can get herself a reputation for being fast very easily. I don't recommend you getting too cozy with just any young man who shows an interest in you. Not only do you run the risk of getting a reputation, you also run the very real risk of inflaming somebody's passions...then what will you do if he doesn't take _no_ for an answer?"

Ella blushed even redder, but her embarrassment at his frank speech goaded her into saying, "Am I to believe, Uncle Rhett, that you never kissed Mother before you married her?"

"Don't be impertinent, Miss," he said sternly. "Besides, you really _should_ be having this talk with your mother."

Ella shrugged. "Oh, you know _her_. She would just say 'don't let a boy take liberties with you, Ella', or 'mind your reputation, Ella'." Her voice had risen to a mocking falsetto as she mimicked Scarlett. "I wanted to get a real opinion--a man's opinion."

Rhett thought Ella's impersonation of Scarlett was funny, but he didn't dare show it. Regardless of his own jumbled feelings about his wife, he would not stoop to undercutting her authority with her own children. But Ella's words forced him to react. For all the world he would not have encouraged Scarlett's vanity by agreeing with her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Therefore, Rhett felt quite safe in declaring, "Your mother is right, you know. You should listen to her."

"Oh please, oh please, don't tell Mother I was kissing Frankie!" Ella begged, clasping her hands together.

Rhett sighed heavily, not pleased to find himself in the middle of this situation, but before he could say any more, Ella had continued. "Why do you and mother fight so much?"

The question startled him even though he was used to Ella's trick of abruptly changing the subject in the middle of a conversation. Scarlett had always thought it meant Ella wasn't too bright, but Rhett sometimes wondered if the opposite were true--that she simply thought about so many things she couldn't keep her attention on any one thing for too long.

"We don't fight that much," he replied warily.

"Well...you don't come home very often and when you do you don't spend that much time together. I would think after your long business trips you and mother would have a lot to talk about."

"You don't have to worry about it. Scarlett and I are content this way."

Ella noticed he had said _Scarlett_ and not _your mother_. She knew that the safest thing would be to change the subject once more and talk about something else, something safe, but she was warming up to her topic. "No you're not. Nobody could be content barely even talking to the person he loved."

"Ella, your mother's and my personal life is none of your business." He raised his voice warningly and spoke severely.

Ella lowered her head guiltily. But when he turned to go, she stepped beside him, checking his departure, then took his arm and leaned her cheek against it. It was rock hard from Rhett holding himself stiffly. She knew she'd gone too far. But she was also confident that he would not stop caring about her merely because she took him to task. Still leaning against him she looked up appealingly into his face. "I didn't mean to be impertinent, Uncle Rhett. I'm sorry if I made you angry." She was the very picture of humble apology.

Rhett looked down at his stepdaughter's remorseful face. He stroked her cheek lightly but untangled her from his arm.

"I miss you, Uncle Rhett," she said quietly. "I miss having you to talk to

like this, man-to-man." Then she giggled. "I mean man-to...-girl."

Not a muscle in Rhett's face changed, but her words smote him almost as badly as Scarlett's determined cheerfulness did. He was very aware of how he was acting, aware that he was not only being no gentleman, but not even a decent human being. But he couldn't, just couldn't, be to Scarlett what she craved of him...

As if conjured from thin air by their talking about her, the back door swung open and Scarlett descended the steps and made her way towards him. As always this visit, that dog was following her.

Rhett took Ella's face in his hands and spoke quietly. "It's just not possible for me to be home more often at this time--you wouldn't understand. A lot of it had to do with things that happened before you were even born..." He kissed Ella's forehead lightly as Scarlett joined them.

Scarlett nodded to her husband and daughter briefly. She hadn't heard what they were talking about, but although she was curious, she wouldn't lower herself to ask or even show any interest. She rested her arms on the fence and asked, pointing to a particular horse, "What do you think about Coal, Rhett? Wade just bought him a couple months ago."

"He looks like a good horse--well configured and he seems sound. Of course, until I see Wade put him through his paces, I won't know for sure."

"He's hot," Ella said, using the word that described a lively mount. "But Wade handles him well."

Rhett was relieved that conversation was now on safer ground. He worried about Ella's reputation and happiness, even if he was only her stepfather. But imagine her asking him probing questions about his and Scarlett's marriage! She was a lot more aware of life than Rhett gave her credit for. He had been almost relieved to see Scarlett just now and grateful that she joined them, even if they only talked about safe, neutral subjects. Especially because they only talked about safe, neutral subjects.

oOoOoOo

Belle Watling hummed to herself as she flitted around her luxurious private rooms. _Rhett's back!_ She thought happily to herself. _Rhett Butler has come back to Atlanta_. After all these many years the thought of Rhett never failed to set her heart a-flutter. He was the one man--the one! The others had been merely business associates, clients. But Rhett was the beginning and the end of her life.

Belle pinned her auburn curls into place. And looked into the mirror. She had a sense of humor, and she couldn't help laughing at her own reflection before she sighed. She had once been pretty, saucy, fiery, well-liked, a good sort. "Heart of gold" was the common expression. But now she looked like what she was--a woman of a certain age who lay with men for a living. And too many men and too much strong liquor had taken its toll on her looks.

Now she looked frowsy, rather matronly. She had gained quite a bit of weight. But somehow she always managed to avoid looking hard--instead she looked weary and used and above all, her most frequent emotion these days was a pervasive fatigue. She was tired in her mind and in her body. On many days it was only the sheer force of will that made her get up out of bed in the morning.

Belle was plenty wealthy these days. If she wanted to, she could sell her House, or even give it away, pack up and move to a part of the country where nobody knew her and start over with a facade of respectability. Sometimes she entertained the possibility--some sleepy little town full of sleepy, respectable people where she could blend in and live in anonymity. She was fifty years old now and she knew she was nearly through the change of life--her monthlies were sparse and infrequent and it wouldn't be long until they ceased altogether. Then she would be considered to be past the age of being susceptible to fleshly urges and could live alone without arousing suspicion.

But if she moved away, she might never see Rhett again.

Belle was under no illusions as to what she meant to him. She was convenient to visit whenever he was in Atlanta and he never failed to visit her. He liked her and he was even fond of her, but she doubted that he would search the ends of the earth just to find her. And she still needed him in her life.

When Rhett was around she got her old sparkle back. He didn't seem to mind her wrinkles or her excess weight or her hair that showed gray at the roots if she wasn't diligent with dying it every four weeks. She admired him unashamedly and he found comfort in her admiration. Not like that cold-hearted woman he was actually married to.

If there was one person in all the world Belle hated it was Scarlett Butler. Well, maybe_ hate_ was too strong a word. She didn't want to see Scarlett _dead_, for instance, but she would have liked Scarlett to be out of the way. Divorced from Rhett, maybe, or gone back to that Tara where she came from. But Belle was a shrewd woman. She knew that Rhett's ongoing obsession with his wife would not be resolved by her simply moving away. So Belle tried to compensate.

She would have died before admitting it to anybody, but sometimes, secretly, Belle pretended she was Rhett's wife. She practically was, she argued to herself. When he was in town she had his favorite meals prepared, his favorite cigars and brandy at the ready, she listened to all his stories and stroked his vanity. And she knew he was content with her, after a fashion.

He wasn't as fiery and impetuous as he once was, and although he still took her to his arms with that old familiar gleam in his eyes, she had noticed that it happened less frequently than of yore. Of course, that was to be expected--he was fifty-seven now, neither of them as young as they used to be--but Belle had never ceased to be foolish where he was concerned.

Her heart pounded wildly when she heard his familiar knock, and she ran to the door to greet him.

"Hello Rhett," she greeted him, voice smoky.

He took her hand and brushed his lips through her curls before he went to his favorite armchair and sank down heavily with an equally heavy sigh.

"Brandy, Rhett?"

"Whiskey," he said curtly.

Belle knew Rhett's moods better than anyone and she knew better than to ask him what the trouble was. He would eventually tell her in his own good time. But she looked at him sharply before pouring his drink at the sideboard. She was grateful she could turn her back to him to fix his drink, because she needed time to compose herself. _Scarlett! _ She thought savagely, along with a few choice swear words. His _wife_ had managed to get under his skin yet again and now she, Belle, would have to try to soothe him. She poured a second whiskey for herself.

"Supper will be up soon," she said as she handed him his drink. He took it from her with a muffled thanks.

"It's good to have you back, Rhett. Where did you go this time?" She loved to hear all his adventures. She wished she could have adventures along with him.

"Cuba." And with that he launched into a rather long story, which she listened to with glowing eyes, and bated breath. The sight of her interest smoothed his vanity and he became more animated and less morose in the course of his telling.

Finally his monolog was finished and so was his second whiskey--for she had poured him another when she saw how the first one relaxed him. By now supper had arrived and they were enjoying the main course when he sighed and gave her a lopsided grin. "Everything's changing, Belle. I feel the passage of years lately. For the first time I really realized the children are growing up." He always referred to them as _the children_, not _Scarlett's children_.

But Belle was gladdened to see a smile, even a little one, and she spoke without thinking. "Don't they grow up so fast? Why it seems only yesterday...But look at your Wade, courting that hired girl of the Meades."

Rhett wasn't surprised that Belle would know such a thing. The grapevine among the fancy ladies was second only to the grapevine among the Negro servants. But he looked at her, suddenly alert. "The Meades' hired girl? That--Marybeth--works for the Meades?"

He didn't know, then. Belle cursed herself for opening her mouth. She didn't want to make trouble for the girl, but she had fairly put her foot in it now. She never divulged the sources of her gossip, even to Rhett, but she could have told him that despite the popular opinion, men were worse talebearers than women. Eventually all the gossip of the Old Guard families reached Belle's ears and Marybeth was an anomaly, a white hired girl for an Old Guard family. Belle tried to smooth it all over.

"I met her once. She was very nice." Belle declared, but was instantly sorry she did when she saw Rhett look at her with that cat-at-the-mouse-hole look.

"How would you have met her?" He asked smoothly.

Belle sighed, sorry she had broached the subject. But of all the strange things she had seen and done in her life, her one and only encounter with Marybeth had been one of the strangest. So she told the story, careful to make it plain to Rhett that she had never seen the girl either before or after. Again, Belle was under no illusions. For all that Rhett had been a roué in his checkered youth, for all that he fancied himself to be a free thinker, he would not want Wade to court a girl with a reputation. He wouldn't object to Wade dallying with such a girl, but serious, devoted courtship would be out of the question.

Rhett listened carefully to her story but offered no comment. Belle could only hope she hadn't made trouble for the girl.


	28. morning glory 2

Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Gotta hurry and upload this before the thunder and lightning storms start and melt my modem. More Rhett.**

"Scarlett," Rhett said as he stood in the doorway of the room she used as an office when she was home.

Scarlett looked up from her accounts, startled. Unbidden came the thought, Well_, well. Just see who wishes to grace me with his presence_. But then she felt so guilty by the disloyal thought that she found it very easy to assume her "great lady" mask. There had been so many disloyal thoughts in the last year and a half. She was almost learning to live with the guilt.

"What is it, Rhett?" She asked as she gestured him to sit.

Rhett picked a chair near to the door. He was close enough to Scarlett for serious conversation, and far enough away to make a hasty exit if he chose. She knew that as long as she sat behind the desk he would stay and talk to her, at least until he was through with whatever he wanted to say. But let her make one movement as if she were getting up and he would leave abruptly. The thought came to her that it was like trying to catch a bird. You had to sit very quietly...

The thought was so funny that in spite of the ever-present heartache his presence caused, Scarlett wanted to laugh derisively at him almost as much as she wanted to throw herself into his arms.

Rhett sat and looked at his wife looking at him. It was clear from her face that she still loved him. He was certain that if he crooked his little finger she would come running. But it was also clear that in some indefinable way she was changing. And for the first time in many years he felt a little uneasy in her presence.

"What do you know about that girl Wade is courting?"

Of all the subjects Rhett could have opened with, that was the last one Scarlett expected and in her surprise her mask dropped momentarily as her eyes flew open and she gave the first answer that came to her.

"Marybeth? Well--I know he calls on her. They're courting in the Meades' parlor." She couldn't entirely suppress an amused grin at the thought. With Mrs. Meade's strict supervision, Wade would be lucky to even steal a single kiss from his ladylove.

Rhett chose to pretend ignorance of the entire situation. He asked, "What do the Meades have to do with this? I don't remember them having any girls that age in their family connection."

"They don't. She works for them--works with their Betsy, I believe."

"But she has children?"

"By her late husband, yes."

"Where is she from originally?"

"Someplace in the mountains, I think. Ask Wade, he knows. Or ask Ella."

Rhett was not pleased with the answers he was getting from Scarlett. He thought that she should know a bit more than she did about this girl who was beguiling Wade. It seemed to Rhett that Wade was getting himself into more complications than he was ready to handle.

Rhett himself had never minded the fact of Wade when he used to call on Scarlett during the War. He was fond of Wade and when Ella came along he was fond of her. He believed he had been a good stepfather to them. They had certainly never been a deterrent to Rhett's feelings for Scarlett. But then Rhett had been much older than Wade was now. He wanted him to enjoy his freedom for as long as possible. And besides, Scarlett's background was a well known fact, but nobody seemed to know very much about Marybeth.

He crossed his arms and frowned at his wife. "Don't you see what's happening here? A stranger sweeps into town, finds work in a respectable home, then proceeds to look around for a rich husband. It's obvious she's a fortune hunter."

Scarlett gave a little start of surprise. "Do you really believe that, Rhett?"

"You have to admit it's a possibility."

"Yes--I suppose--" Scarlett wavered uncertainly. "But she doesn't seem the type--I mean she doesn't show the least interest in our possessions or talk about money..."

"Of course she doesn't . Not _now_. Not until she ingratiates herself with everybody. And makes Wade fall in love with her. Or has it happened already? Is he in love?"

"Wade is hardly in the habit of confiding in me. But I think you're wrong, Rhett. I think they're just two young people who care about each other."

"And I think you should make sure of that before you allow this to go any further."

"Allow? Allow a grown man like Wade? If he's fallen for her, I really wouldn't know how to go about separating them. I don't even want to. Besides, I don't have any objections to her, what little I know of her. Of course if you're so worried about it, you could have a talk with him, give him some fatherly advice. But Rhett, " Scarlett put her pen down and looked at him with a little puckered frown. "If you object too strongly to Marybeth, Wade just might choose to take her side against you. Then you'll lose any influence you have with him."

Rhett looked at her a moment and a glimmer of surprise mingled with respect flashed over his face briefly. "Well, Scarlett," he drawled. "I'm surprised you have such an astute understanding of human behavior. And no, I'm not mocking you."

Scarlett shrugged and lowered her eyes. Every once in a while he would pay her a compliment, usually backhanded like that one. She used to try to read romantic intent into these statements, but she had learned through bitter experience that his compliments were no prelude to romance. Furthermore, any flirtatious move on her part would cause him to bolt right out that door. A pang went through her at the necessity of playing such ridiculous games with her own husband. But there it was. And she needed him to stay because there was something she had to talk to him about, anyway.

"Speaking of Wade," she said, as if they were discussing something as innocuous as the weather, "He's had his Grand Tour and he's gainfully employed. When are you going to have that talk with him?"

Rhett rose to his feet gracefully. "Before I leave Atlanta, Scarlett. Before I leave Atlanta."

oOoOoOo

Rhett sat down across the desk from Wade. He pulled open a drawer and rifled around the files until he found the one he wanted. He put it on the desk and shut the drawer. Then he patted the file and looked up at Wade.

"I called you down here to the Bank because there's something very important I need to discuss with you. When your Uncle Henry died a few years ago, he designated me to assume control of his estate until his beneficiaries came of age. Of course, that would be primarily you and Beau Wilkes. He set apart some money for Pittypat, but she received her share when he died. He also left a little something for Ella. He didn't leave anything to your mother, but I'm sure he decided she could take care of herself."

Rhett pulled out a pair of spectacles from his jacket pocket and put them on. The glasses were a concession to advancing age, and although he insisted to himself that he didn't care that his eyes were not what they used to be, he could never bring himself to wear them in front of Scarlett. He told himself that he didn't care what she thought, but he saw no reason to display any kind of decline or weakness to his wife.

Rhett selected a paper from the folder and shoved it across the desk to Wade. "This is what Uncle Henry left you."

Wade's eyes flew open when he saw the amount. "Uncle Henry left this? But how...?"

Rhett waved dismissively. "It's not as astounding as it seems. Henry Hamilton lived simply and made shrewd investments. But after his death I made some further investments and now that the years have gone by..." He pushed another paper across the desk. "This is what the total is today."

Wade whistled low.

"Uncle Henry specified that you weren't to know about this until you were out of school and gainfully employed," Rhett continued, unconsciously echoing Scarlett's words. Therefore I must insist you don't mention anything about this to Cousin Beau."

"No, of course not."

"You and Beau each also inherit one half of Aunt Pitty's house. Of course, she retains the right to live there until the end of her life--and that was stipulated in Uncle Henry's will."

Wade smiled. He understood why it had to be documented and legal, but he was amused at the idea that he or Beau would turn poor, ailing, forgetful Aunt Pittypat out on the street. It sounded like the premise of a bad melodrama.

"The reason Henry Hamilton didn't want you to know about all this right

away was because he was afraid your head would be turned by knowing how much money you had."

"He needn't have worried," Wade said scornfully. "I always meant to be a lawyer, just like my father. _You_ understand."

"Indeed I do. But Henry had also seen enough examples in his lifetime of idle men of means and he had no intention that you and Beau would end up like that."

"He still needn't have worried about me. I have no intention of resigning my position or resting on my money. I intend to be able to take care of myself."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. But I still need to teach you how to manage this inheritance. Are you willing to learn?"

"You know I am."

"Good. I'll guide you at first, teach you how to recognize good investments and avoid bad ones and how to know when to sell out of investments that are going bad. Scarlett wanted me to have this talk with you sooner rather than later."

"Does Mother know about my inheritance?"

"Of course she knows," Rhett muttered.

Wade nodded, but his face was lowered, looking over the folder Rhett had handed to him. Acting on the impulse to test him, Rhett tossed out casually, "Your Uncle Ashley knows, too."

Rhett studied Wade closely. The younger man nodded, not looking up from the papers, acting as if that last sentence of Rhett's contained no more significance than anything else he said. But Rhett knew better. The signs of Wade's reaction were subtle, but unmistakable--a tenseness across the shoulders, a slight suspension of breath.

_Damn_, thought Rhett. _Wade knows about Scarlett and Ashley--somehow he heard the rumor. But how long has he known?_ There was no use in confronting him, Rhett knew. Wade would go to his grave pretending he knew nothing about it.

Rhett had been speaking the truth--he really had met with Ashley Wilkes a few years back to discuss Beau's inheritance. It had been a strange interview, both men carefully keeping to the topic of Uncle Henry's legacy--an outsider might even have guessed that the two men never knew each other in any capacity beside business. They both avoided any reference to Scarlett, but the atmosphere had been charged with the things left unspoken. Melanie had already been in her grave for several years and Rhett and Scarlett's estrangement was an established fact. But fate had thrown the two men together again, if only briefly.

"What can I say, Uncle Rhett? Other than _thank you_?"

Rhett was dragged out of his reverie and he looked at Wade peering at him over the top of the papers.

"Well, it's time you learned," Rhett said a little roughly. "Eventually I'll turn it all over to you and you'll guide Ella's money until she marries and your mother's also."

"You've been guiding Mother's investments?" Wade was startled into saying, although he regretted it immediately.

Rhett didn't seem angry, although he looked at Wade sharply for a moment before answering. "Yes, Wade, I have been guiding Scarlett's investments."

It was the second time this visit that he saw how his stepchildren were becoming wise to the situation between him and Scarlett. Or had they always been aware of it and now they were merely beginning to express it? However the matter stood he was feeling rather irritated. But his irritation melted when he saw that his answer pleased Wade. The younger man was nodding at him with a little smile on his face.

Wade was thinking that it was odd that Uncle Henry would have left their welfare--Mother's, his own and Ella's--in the hands of Rhett Butler. Uncle Henry was related to Uncle Ashley by birth and they shared experiences and common beliefs and interests. But at the end of his life he entrusted his estate to Rhett. Had _that_ been Uncle Henry's last bequest to Mother--a ploy to keep her estranged husband in her life--even tenuously?

Wade's smile seemed to signal the opening Rhett hoped for. Proceeding cautiously, he said, "I don't want to infect you with cynicism, Wade, but I feel I must bring up a rather unpleasant topic. I know you're not the type of person who would brag about being rich, but somehow people always manage to find out. Now you have to be careful about people who would play up to you only because they want your money. And unfortunately, unscrupulous people come in all shapes and sizes."

"I know Uncle Rhett, and don't worry. I'll be very careful about who I trust. I'll assume that any man I haven't known all my life is under suspicion." Wade spoke lightly although he knew Rhett was right. Wade had seen it for himself--how some persons made it their business to curry the favor of the wealthy. He thought it was contemptible.

Only it wasn't men Rhett was thinking about. He wanted to warn Wade about women like Marybeth. But he couldn't exactly come out and accuse her of fortune hunting without proof--Wade would never believe him without proof. But he hoped Wade would realize the danger he was in before it was too late.

oOoOoOo

"Aunt Melly--Cousin Beau's mother--used to bring me here when I was a just a boy. This," Wade pointed to a particular headstone, "is where my father is buried. My father was Aunt Melanie's brother, you see."

Marybeth nodded. She hadn't been entirely clear about the relationship between Beau and Ella until Wade explained it. She was standing with him in the Oakland Cemetery. Marybeth read the name on the tombstone to herself: Captain Charles Hamilton.

"He was a soldier in the War," Wade continued. "For years I thought he'd seen fighting, but he died in camp of pneumonia. But Uncle Rhett told me he _wanted_ to fight." Marybeth noticed a trace of defensiveness in that last sentence. She merely nodded again.

"Come on, we'll head back." Wade said.

Marybeth crossed herself before she fell in with him. They walked slowly back to his carriage, hand in hand.

"For years I thought about being a soldier just like him. I still think about it sometimes."

"So why don't you?"

"Maybe I will someday. But I was away from home for five years between college and Europe. My wanderlust is satisfied for now. I like being right here in Atlanta." And he squeezed her hand gently before helping her into the carriage.

As she waited for him to climb in on his side, she turned her face up to the sun and enjoyed its gentle warmth. Spring would be here soon.

When they were out of the cemetery they rode on quietly for a few blocks--he seemed to be thinking deeply about something and she didn't want to disturb his reverie at first. But she shifted and sighed as she thought about the cemetery and his revelation about wanting to be a soldier. At her movement he turned to her and smiled.

"I'm glad I could show that to you, Marybeth."

She linked her arm through his lightly, so as not to interfere with his driving. "I'm sure you'll think this is very silly, but I always thought that the weather should be gloomy when one visits a cemetery. It just seems like it would fit better."

"Somehow, I think _their_ rest remains undisturbed by trifles like the weather, no matter how much it affects us."

"Oh, that reminds me--I saw a crocus in the garden this morning. Today was nice, but pretty soon it will be warm all the time."

"When daffodils begin to peer,

With heigh ! the doxy, over the dale

Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;

For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale," he quoted to her. "Shakespeare."

They were back at the Meades' house now, and she laughed as he swung her down from the carriage. "Do you have a quote for everything?"

"Not quite everything." He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. If he desired more from her than to kiss her hand, he was careful not to show it. He didn't want to frighten her off and anyway, the Meades' front door in the afternoon was no place for _such_ tokens of affection. However, she was so dear to him and he thought her so pretty that it wasn't easy to wait. But Wade could be patient. If there was one thing life taught him, it was to be patient.


	29. morning glory 3

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Ella-centric. I like writing Ella.**

"I want...this one."

"Oh, Ella, you can't be serious--that old fashioned thing!"

Ella rose to her feet in front of the shelf where she had been kneeling. With a stubborn air, she brandished the item she was holding in her hand.

"I want it." And with no further ado, she opened the sheet music and plunked it on the piano in front of Frankie Bonnell. Then she sat back down on the piano bench next to him.

Groaning and rolling his eyes, Frankie cracked his knuckles and started to play the introduction. Ella nodded her head in time to the music before she joined in singing: "Believe me if all those endearing young charms--" Then she winced as he sounded a sour note. "Oh Frankie! That was just horrible!"

He turned to her and raised an eyebrow in mock severity. "Horrible? Is that how you say _thank you_ to your most devoted accompanist?" And he put a hand on his hip.

"Devoted, maybe. But talented? Well that's another story..." her voice trailed off as she grinned at him.

"Humph. I'm plenty good enough to play this old chestnut. It was moth-eaten when my parents were courting."

"Good enough?" She giggled. "I don't think so. C over Middle C! What were you trying to do? Wake up the dead?" And she scooted away from him as he gave her the look that usually preceded a playful grab at her on his part. But to her surprise, he only gave her a nervous smile and turned back to the music.

He played the intro again and Ella settled down next to him and joined in: "Believe me if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze on so fondly today were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms..." Her singing voice was low and a little gravely, not unpleasant to listen to, although she disliked to perform for anybody other than her family and closest friends--she wished she had the clear sweet tones of Virgie Simmons' years of voice training.

Frankie liked hearing her sing and enjoyed their times together at the piano in the Butlers' parlor. The Butlers had two pianos--two! One for the parlor and one in the third floor ballroom. The upstairs piano was only tuned before parties, but the downstairs one was tuned on a regular schedule. And Frankie did nearly all his courting of Ella in the parlor.

This afternoon was a warm and sunny one, and Prissy had opened some of the floor-to-ceiling windows to let in the fresh breeze--a welcome idea, for the parlor, like the rest of the house, had accumulated the usual wintertime odors. They hadn't begun the spring cleaning yet and the air was refreshing as it circulated throughout the room.

Ella and Frankie went through a few more songs--_Oh Dem Golden Slippers, Silver Threads Among the Gold,_ and _Break the News Gently to Mother_. But it dawned on Ella that Frankie wasn't enjoying himself very much. As the afternoon went on, he missed notes with increasing frequency and acted as if he were abstracted. Finally, he snatched a selection from the now untidy pile of music and opened it up on the piano. With force and purpose he began the intro and started to sing:

"Once I loved a maiden fair

But she did deceive me

She with Venus might compare

In my mind believe me..."

Ella laughed a little, breaking into his playing. "That's not a very cheerful song for you to sing when you come a-courtin' "

With that he plunked the last note rather moodily. He stood up, walked over to one of the windows, and looked out as Ella watched him, bemused.

"What's the matter, Frankie?"

"I need some air."

Ella shrugged and stood up to join him and they walked out together into the back yard. They stopped and watched as some birds that had been hunting for worms flew up into the trees, chirping loudly at the interruption. Ella laughed. "Nesting time!" She declared happily.

"Noisy birds," he replied disdainfully.

"Whatsoever is the matter with you? You're so grouchy today."

"If you must know, it's all these signs of spring."

It was a ridiculous answer, in Ella's opinion, and she decided she didn't want to be drawn into his bad mood. Instead, she tried to jolly him out of it. Taking her skirt in her hands she danced around him on tiptoe singsonging, "Ah--but in spring a young man's thoughts of fancy turn to love..." And she lifted up her face to receive his kiss.

But no kiss was forthcoming. He wanted to kiss her, even despite his mood, but the knowledge that the fearsome Captain Butler was lurking about had an inhibiting effect on Frankie's ardor. Instead, he asked, rather irritably, "Don't you take anything seriously Ella?" .

She drew back, chastened, and he was immediately filled with remorse. "I _am_ sorry, Ella. That was beastly of me."

She raised her eyebrows as she nodded in agreement. "Yes, it was."

"Ohhh..." He sat down on a bench and drew her down beside him. He rested his elbows on his knees and wrung his hands. "I'm not looking forward to spring. I'm not looking forward to May."

"I already gathered that," Ella replied dryly. "But why? What are you saying, Frankie?"

"You must know I care about you. Knowing that, you should realize that I don't look forward to sharing you with Albert Whiting."

For a moment, Ella went blank as the words failed to register. When the import of his statement broke on her, she was left casting about for something to say. "Well, I..." She giggled nervously.

"How can you laugh at a time like this?"

"Goodness gracious, Frankie," Ella said in genuine astonishment. "I had no idea you felt _that_ strongly about it." Which was true. Ella knew she would have to choose some day, but she thought Albert would be the one forcing her decision.

"You know it now." Then he looked down, embarrassed to be caught being jealous about a girl.

"Frankie..." She floundered helplessly. "Frankie, you knew all about Albert Whiting when you started calling on me. Everybody does--it wasn't exactly a secret. And I know that you like to call on lots of different girls and flirt and have fun. There's no reason we can't just keep on like we are..." She broke off confused when he shook his head and peered at her with a lopsided smile.

"No, Ella, I haven't called on any other girl since I started calling on you. There hasn't been anyone else. There isn't anyone else. I gave it all up for you."

"But--but--" She felt a little panicky--things were moving faster than she expected. "That's not my fault! I didn't tell you to stop flirting with other girls--that was your choice!"

"Yes, it was my choice." He stood up and paced nervously for a few moments. Then he took out a cigarette and lit it. "Ella, I have a confession to make. We've been friends since we were children, right? We used to play together. We watched each other grow up. I always liked you Ella--as a friend, that is. You were always so lively and ready for fun.

"But then when we all outgrew such childish games, you went your way and I went mine. You to your girlfriends and me to my studies and then my work. And girls--I never wanted to settle down--I liked flirting with lots of different girls.

"You're dear and sweet--I always thought so--and I liked having you as a friend. But when I held you in my arms that first time this winter, things were--well--different. Mind you, even then I didn't want to make trouble for you and Albert, truly. You two seemed happy together. It just started out as a lighthearted flirtation for me. But now," he paused and looked uncomfortable. "But now I've learned to care for you. And sometimes I like to think--maybe--there's a future for us. That's why I'm not looking forward to May," he ended simply.

"Oh." Ella sat, dumbfounded.

"You might just as well say _oh_," said Frankie. "I can see now that this has all come as a surprise to you."

Ella nodded, looking down at her hands.

"So what do you think, Ella?" He asked a little urgently. "Could you possibly see a future for us?"

"But Frankie, I'm only eighteen..." She was wide-eyed and spoke barely above a whisper.

"That's not too young--girls younger than you have gotten married, and I'm not pressing for anything quite that serious right away."

"I just don't know..."

"Don't you care for me at all?"

"Well--I suppose..."

"Not the most enthusiastic response I could have hoped for," he said, his disappointment obvious.

"I'm not unaware of the honor you are bestowing on me, but this is all so sudden that I do not know what to say." The words Scarlett had taught her rose to her lips, but it sounded wooden and false even in her own ears, and Frankie frowned a little. She looked up at him and continued in her own words. "I really didn't know how you felt. And I did hear you say--a long time ago--that you didn't want to settle down. I believed you."

"Oh, I said a lot of things--a lot of stupid things. But that's all changed now." He looked down into her embarrassed, uncomfortable face. He sat down next to her again. "I won't push you any farther," he continued quietly. "I certainly don't want to drive you away. On the other hand, I had to declare how I felt. I'll give you time to think about it."

Ella sighed. She wasn't sure more time would help her decide.

**Yes, I know. It was kinda short. More to come soon!**


	30. morning glory 4

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Thanks for your patience, gentle readers. Once again, I had to split a chappie that wound up longer than I anticipated. Now, for part two.**

The Saturday NIght Musical Circle gave a performance that weekend and Marybeth went with Wade and Ella.

"Cousin Beau loves these concerts," Ella told Marybeth when they were in the carriage. "But he has to stay at University this weekend. He has an important paper to turn in. Isn't that awful? Imagine having to miss this concert all because of a little old paper!"

Marybeth nodded sympathetically, but she noticed that Wade rolled his eyes.

Ella noticed it too. She dropped her voice to a stage whisper and crossed her eyes. "You see, for some strange reason, _Wade_ thinks marks are important, too." She felt safe teasing him because she knew he would not stoop to quarreling with her in front of Marybeth. "When _will_ he learn the important things in life?"

Wade clucked at the horse and slapped the reins, but didn't dignify Ella with so much as a glance in her direction.

When they arrived at the theater, Marybeth was not surprised to see Frankie Bonnell hurry towards the carriage and reach up his arms to help Ella out. She was, however, surprised when Ella shot her a look that seemed to show no pleasure at the sight of him. But she dutifully reached out her hands and allowed him to swing her from the carriage and whisk her out of sight.

The theater was crowded when Marybeth and Wade went inside--Frankie had already claimed two seats for himself and Ella, but there were no other empty seats near them. Wade led Marybeth to a place on the other side of the room. _He_ didn't seem sorry to be free of his sister for the evening, but Marybeth couldn't help wondering at Ella's odd behavior.

Later on, between acts, Marybeth excused herself from Wade and was checking herself in the mirror of the ladies' lounge when Jenny Whiting entered the room.

"Marybeth! It seems like forever since I've seen you," she said as she hugged the other girl warmly.

"Not quite forever, but it's been a long time. Ever since..." Marybeth paused delicately.

"I know. And it's all right--you can say it. Ever since Ella and I had that fight." Jenny nodded and shrugged. "Well, I suppose we _have_ seen each other, but not to really _talk_." She lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "Between you and me, I do feel awful about the whole thing. I shouldn't have been so hard on her. I really don't know what got into me. Now it's been so long I feel funny when I see her and I don't know what to say. But enough about that. How do you like our Saturday Night Musical Circle?"

"It is amazing. I had no idea there was so much talent in Atlanta." Marybeth looked at Jenny and turned red. "That didn't come out right. What I meant to say was..."

But Jenny laughed. "Don't bother explaining to _me_. I know what you meant. We really do have entertainment worth seeing, and I..."

She stopped suddenly when she saw Ella enter the room. The two girls looked at each other warily, then Jenny gave Ella a tight little nod, squeezed Marybeth's arm and swept out of the room.

Ella joined Marybeth at the mirror and patted her hair into place.

"And how is Miss Jennifer Whiting these days?" Ella asked loftily.

"She seems well, but I didn't talk to her for very long," replied Marybeth in an equally lofty voice although she felt uneasy.

"Don't let _me_ stop you. I won't be offended it you're still friends with her." She was suddenly quiet and her eyes met Marybeth's in the mirror. Abruptly she grabbed Marybeth's arm and turned her to face her. "I really mean that, you know. Please--I'm not a petty person--just because _I'm_ fighting with her doesn't mean I'll make my friends take sides--I'm not that kind of a girl. Please don't think I'm petty, Marybeth."

Marybeth stared at Ella, surprised that her opinion meant so much to her. "Of course I know you're not petty," she said, patting her hand. "And if it makes any difference, Jenny didn't say anything mean or insulting about you."

Ella managed a thin, wobbly smile. "That's all well and good, but pretty soon she really will have something to gloat over." And with that she relayed her new complication with Frankie.

"Wow," Marybeth said. "You have two young men who want a serious courtship with you..."

"Yes--I mean no--I mean Albert has never really declared himself. But I don't know what he'll say when I tell him about Frankie. I bet he'll be mad."

Marybeth looked at her sympathetically.

"Jenny will probably say _I told you so_," Ella continued.

"Perhaps," Marybeth said cautiously, "You should give _her_ credit for not being petty, also. Maybe she would surprise you."

"Maybe," Ella mumbled.

"Look, Ella. Does it really make you happy to fight with her?"

Ella shook her head.

"Then why won't you give her a chance?"

"I'm afraid she won't want a chance," said Ella sadly.

oOoOoOo

"I brought my carriage tonight, Wade. I could take your sister home," Frankie Bonnell offered when the concert ended and they all stood together in the lobby.

Ella shot Marybeth a panicked look, but Wade, who was not looking in Ella's direction, assumed she would be happy to be escorted home by Frankie. He readily agreed, utterly oblivious to his sister's distress. After all, he was a frequent caller at the mansion. But Marybeth, watching Ella take Frankie's arm with her eyes lowered, had the impression of some poor, unfortunate soul being led away to the guillotine.

It was raining lightly when the Musical Circle dismissed, and Wade took Marybeth's hand and walked her quickly to his carriage.

When they were settled in and on their way to the Meades', they discussed the evening's entertainment.

"It was really a fine mix of music," Marybeth said. "They had the patriotic songs of course, and I really enjoyed the music from other nationalities. Isn't it funny how they call German songs _Dutch_?"

"Their programs are never the same twice," Wade answered. "Sometimes they do classical music and opera, too."

Marybeth nodded and then fell silent. She was wondering how it was faring with Ella and Frankie.

"Did you ever have a chance to read _Love's Labour's Lost_?" Wade asked, breaking into her musing.

"Oh that. Well, I..." For the second time that night, she felt like she had committed a faux pas and blushed. She tried to read it the very night he gave it to her, but had to give up in confusion after the first page. She felt ashamed to admit it to him because he had read it and enjoyed it enough to recommend it to her. But she knew she couldn't bluff her way out of this. She took a deep breath and said low, "I had a hard time understanding it, if you must know. I know they spoke differently then. It was almost three hundred years ago, after all. But I tried, Wade, I really did." She clasped her hands together and looked out the side of the carriage.

Wade was taken aback by her reaction. He was only making conversation. No girl had ever tried to impress _him_ before--it was a completely new experience. Furthermore, none of the girls he knew seemed to have any interest in appearing learned. But Marybeth seemed to take her troubles with understanding the play to heart.

"I didn't mean to distress you," he said, as he stroked her arm in a gesture of appeasement. "Shakespeare--the language they used in the olden days--is hard to understand in these modern times. I had to read it over and over before I understood it." She turned and looked at him and he got an idea. "Would you like for us to read it together?" He rather expected her to laugh and refuse him--the idea of reading serious tomes while courting was rather unusual--but he wanted to make her feel better.

"Yes. I would love that," she replied, looking pleased.

They arrived at the Meades' carriage block and it was raining in earnest now. Wade felt pleased with himself that he had an umbrella tucked under the seat and he jumped down from the carriage and hurried to Marybeth's side. He stepped up on the block to hold the umbrella over her head as she climbed out, but that meant he had to step backward onto the muddy sidewalk while holding her hand to steady her--the footing was rather unsure. Then Marybeth spied a puddle on the sidewalk she wished to avoid and his eyes followed hers as she hesitated.

"We could..." he paused, thinking. "We could try..."

But before he said another word, she leaned forward and put her arms around his neck, nestling her cheek against his. Wade had no objection to this idea and his free arm went around her waist as he helped her step lightly to the ground, avoiding the puddle altogether.

Still holding the umbrella over her head, he maneuvered her up the walk to the Meades' door. In just a few more steps they would be on the front porch and he could put the umbrella down and take her in his arms and...

"Wade," she said suddenly as she nodded towards the door. "Look, a commotion."

Wade looked. The Meades' door was ajar and they could see the doctor in conversation with a man who seemed to be pleading.

"Pull yourself together, man," Dr. Meade was saying in his brisk, businesslike tone of voice. "We'll go as soon as I get my bag and tell Old Talbot to hitch up."

Wade and Marybeth hurried up the steps. Dr. Meade and the other man turned to look as they joined them on the porch. The man Marybeth didn't know looked wild-eyed and frantic.

"Our baby has croup," he said to them, twisting his hat in his hands.

Wade recognized the man by sight, although he didn't know him by name--he was one of the hands at Uncle Ashley's mill. He and his wife had just had their first baby a few months ago. They didn't have enough money to afford horse and carriage. He must have walked--or run--through the rain to get here.

"Dr. Meade," Wade said, "I'm already hitched up. I'll drive you out."

Dr. Meade looked at Wade, then at the nervous father, and back at Wade again. He didn't like to put Wade out and he didn't know how long he would be at the baby's bedside. Besides, that's why he kept Old Talbot. But it would be more reassuring to the father to show him he was making every effort. He nodded curtly.

"Do you want me too, Doctor?" Marybeth asked. "I know about croupy babies."

He patted her kindly and thought of refusing. After all, if he needed help he could always send for his nurse, Miss James. On the other hand, that would be one more delay. "Ye-es. You can come with us."

Marybeth followed him into the house as he went to get his bag. Mrs. Meade met her in the foyer. "I'm going with the doctor," Marybeth informed her.

Mrs. Meade nodded and pulled her a little ways into the parlor. Speaking quietly so the father couldn't hear she murmured a bit testily," I hope Dr. Meade finds an assistant and soon. He's getting too old to be called out at all hours of the night and all weather."

When they were all bundled back into the carriage and heading back out into the night, the father introduced himself to Marybeth and Wade with a quick shake of the hand. "Holliman. Robert Holliman. The wife's name is Ida. Thank you for the favor, Mr. Hamilton."

Wade nodded, acknowledging the introduction.

"Ida was clean beside herself when I left. I reckon she's frantic now."

When they arrived at the little house, the young mother, barely more than a girl, was pacing up and down with the coughing child in her arms. She knew enough about croup to have started water boiling--steam would help the baby breathe more easily. But her panicked look was mingled with relief when she saw Dr. Meade.

He strode in and took the baby from her arms and examined it quickly. "Do you know how to make a poultice?" He asked her. She nodded. "Then make one out of mustard or onion, whatever you have."

She nodded again and turned to find an onion as he worked over the baby. But when she tried to chop it, her hands were shaking so badly that Marybeth worried that she'd slip with the knife and cut herself. Marybeth tried to take the knife and onion from her.

"Oh, please let me do this," Ida argued with her.

Marybeth shook her head. "Your hands are trembling too much. You'll cut yourself then there'll be two patients for Dr. Meade. I can do it faster."

Ida sighed and stepped aside, but watched Marybeth closely as if she were afraid it would be done wrong. The onion fumes stung Marybeth's eyes and she didn't like being watched so closely, but she understood the woman's anxiety. When the poultice was prepared, she handed it to the doctor and he put it on the baby's throat.

Marybeth drew Ida back and out of the doctor's way to watch and wait. As they watched Dr. Meade work over the baby, the woman squeezed Marybeth's arm so tightly it hurt.

"Your baby's in good hands," Marybeth assured Ida.

Ida responded by leaning her forehead on Marybeth's shoulder, and it seemed she was whispering prayers under her breath.

Trying not to be too obvious about it, Marybeth looked around the room curiously. It was poor, but clean. The wife for all her youth was a competent housekeeper.

Wade watched all this from a stool in an out-of-the-way corner. As soon as he brought the others to the house and his help was no longer needed, he tried to make himself inconspicuous. He knew that inept help was worse than no help at all, so he found a spot where he would be available if necessary, but not underfoot. He used the opportunity to watch Marybeth as she helped the doctor and reassured Mrs. Holliman. He thought it was sweet the way she stepped up to offer her assistance when it was needed. It endeared her to him even more. Unbidden he wondered if Elsie Wellburn would have been so quick to drive out with the doctor in the middle of the night. Actually, it was possible--nursing the sick was one of the many household chores girls learned how to do as they grew up. But she definitely wouldn't have been interested in reading Shakespeare with him--of that he was certain. Of course, he hadn't been drawn to Elsie for her intellectual aspirations, but for her beauty and sparkling vivacity. Marybeth couldn't precisely be called vivacious--although she had learned to hold her own with the opposite sex. But there was something else Marybeth had--substance rather than sparkle--although Wade found her quite charming.

Dr. Meade managed the baby through the crisis and when he was safely out of harm's way, Wade drove him and Marybeth back home. Marybeth noticed the tired droop of the doctor's shoulders and thought about what Mrs. Meade said about his age. He went into the house before Marybeth, and she was unwilling to keep him waiting for her. She stood with Wade on the front porch, her hand in his as they murmured their goodbyes.

"Thank you for driving out to Mr. Holliman's house," she said. "It was very gallant. You saved him the worry of waiting for Dr. Meade to get hitched up. But now it's so late--only a few more hours before Mass starts."

"But you still want me to come by for you for church, don't you?"

"I'll be waiting." Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and kissed Wade on the cheek, amused at his look of surprise. "Good night," she said as she slipped through the front door.

Dr. Meade was walking down the hallway towards her. He had put his bag away in his study and looked at her in some wonderment. "You've come in already?"

"I didn't want to keep you from going to bed," she replied. "It was such a long night and all."

"Well, thunderation, Dandridge. If you wanted a few minutes to say goodbye to your young man, why didn't you just say so? I would have waited. I had things to put away and besides, I'm not so old that I need to be coddled," he added grumpily but his eyes twinkled.

She shrugged helplessly.

"Oh, never mind," he said. "Just get you to bed, as long as we're all back home."

Marybeth tiptoed up the stairs and let herself quietly into her room, but it was no use. Christina was standing in her crib and as soon as she saw her mother, she held her arms up. Marybeth had always heard that it was wrong to indulge the whims of babies, but she ignored that advice as she lifted her daughter out of the crib and carried her to her own bed. She undressed quickly and wriggled into her nightdress. Then, laying down at last, pulled Christina into her arms, rested her cheek on the baby's silky curls and smelled her sweet baby-smell. Then Marybeth closed her eyes and fell asleep.


	31. morning glory 5

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

On the warm and sunny day that Rhett Butler chose to leave Atlanta once more, Frankie Bonnell took Ella walking--at her own request. Up and down the streets around the mansion they walked, with her arm in his. Frankie was happy to be away from the mansion, where Captain Butler was making ready for his departure. The whole house was in an uproar, what with moving the trunks and parcels into the foyer to await the coach that would take them to the train. The young people didn't wish to be underfoot and besides, Frankie always had the uneasy sensation that Captain Butler knew he'd kissed Ella and would think he didn't respect her. Frankie wasn't sure what he would say if he were called to account for his actions, but it would definitely be an uncomfortable interview.

"Thank you taking me out, Frankie," Ella said, her brow puckered into a little frown. "I never like to be around on the mornings when Uncle Rhett is leaving on his business trips. It always depresses me. Besides, I already said my goodbyes to him earlier."

"I'm happy to be of service," Frankie replied gallantly, although he was surprised at Ella's rather long speech. She usually loved to talk endlessly about anything that came into her head, but she was always strangely reticent about her mother and stepfather. Right now she seemed lost in thought again.

"I hear the Thespians are planning a big shindig for a fundraiser this summer," he said, hoping to divert her.

"Is that right?" She looked up at him and smiled a little. She knew he was trying take her mind off Uncle Rhett's departure and was grateful for his effort.

"Apparently their funds are a little low right now. _Le Misanthrope_ didn't do as well as they had hoped. I think that's a shame--personally, I like satires that have a message. And I especially liked that one--whether it is better to speak one's mind truthfully or to use polite evasions."

She shrugged. "There's a time and a place for everything."

"That's wise of you, Ella."

"I'm not wise, Frankie," she answered, a shade scornfully. "I'm not old enough to be wise."

"In that case, I'm not old enough to be wise, either. And therefore I'd like you to indulge me. I'm going to be rather unwise right now, if you don't mind." He pulled her into the shade of one of the trees that lined the street. "Do you remember when you gave me that lock of your hair? I've kept it here." And from under the collar of his shirt, he pulled out a small, clumsily sewn cloth pouch that was tied with a string and worn around his neck. "See, it's next to my heart," he added significantly.

Ella smiled uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that."

He shoved the pouch back under his shirt. "I didn't _have_ to, but I _wanted_ to." He drew her arm through his and continued their walk. "What do you really think about Albert?"

"Frankie, I don't want to discuss..."

"You seem to be holding on tightly to a man who's not around. How often does he even write to you, anyway?"

She looked away. "Once a week, sometimes more."

He looked stunned. "I didn't know. I mean, you never talk about him, or..."

"I thought it would be in bad taste. Besides, you never look happy when his name is brought up."

"No, I'm not."

"I'm not ready to make a decision, Frankie." She looked up at him, but he was looking away. She sighed heavily. "Maybe you should go back to seeing other girls. Maybe I'm no good for you."

"Do you really want that?" He looked anguished.

"I _don't _want to hurt you."

"You know how you could stop hurting me," he murmured.

She looked at him. "I can't do that," she said in the same low voice. "But I am sorry that I'm doing this to you right now."

"Oh, Ella. I know. And I said I wouldn't push you, either, but here I am--" he laughed shortly. "I can be patient. I haven't said anything since that day in your garden, haven't I? No, no. I can wait. I really can."

oOoOoOo

While the servants toiled assisting Rhett with his preparations, Scarlett, like Ella, had taken refuge outside of the mansion. She didn't plan to leave the grounds--she did want to bid Rhett farewell--but she didn't like to be inside to watch him get ready to leave her, either. All the hustle and bustle depressed her.

But Scarlett had barely stepped onto the back veranda to begin her mournful ruminations when her attention was drawn by a large grubby wagon winding its way laboriously through her back driveway. It ground to a halt at the furthermost point from the house and a big, burly man climbed down. He spotted her and waved, smiling as he headed toward her. It was her gardener, Mr. Ennis. Scarlett walked down to meet him.

"You weren't supposed to come today," she said as she shook his hand, somewhat reluctantly. Mr. Ennis' hands and fingernails were permanently stained black from years of ground-in dirt that no amount of soap seemed to be able to remove.

"Right you are, Mrs. Butler. But lucky for you, I had a last-minute cancellation. And you being my best customer and all, I loaded up the wagon with those azaleas you ordered and rushed right over. Now, if you'll just step this way, I can get your approval before we start planting."

"Oh...I'm sure they're fine. Just do whatever you have to do," she said with an airy little wave.

"Not so fast, ma'am. This being your first time with new shrubbery, I need you to see them and give your approval."

"Well...if you insist." She cast an anxious look back at the house before she followed the gardener.

He led her to his enormous wagon. His crew drew back respectfully, tipping their hats at her as she approached.

"Now. You can have this color here, or that color there, or..."

"Fine. That color," she chose hastily, looking back at the mansion again.

"Not so fast, Mrs. Butler. You can't just pick any old color. Wait." He hoisted himself into the wagon and broke off some blossoms from different bushes. Then he jumped down, took her elbow and led her back towards the house. "Now really look at the colors, then look at the paint on your house. You understand, what you wanna see is..."

Scarlett broke in impatiently. "This isn't a good time, Mr. Ennis."

"That's too bad. Because I'm afraid, ma'am, that this is the only time. You waited 'til awfully late to place your order. These bushes really should have been planted by now. But if you're really as busy as all that..." he shrugged and he pulled a grimy little notebook from his back pocket, "I can schedule you in around the...23rd."

"That would probably be best, but...but I did so want to enjoy them now..." Scarlett said doubtfully.

Mr. Ennis noticed her indecision and decided to play devil's advocate. "Of course, ma'am, the customer is always right." And he touched his hat brim and waved his crew back. "We'll come back another day," he added as he made as if to head back to the wagon.

"No, wait," Scarlett said as she placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Bring them in now. I suppose we can do this today."

"What color?" He asked, getting back to business.

"Miz Scarlett! Miz Scarlett!" Pork called from the veranda. "It's time!"

Scarlett looked from Mr. Ennis to Pork and back again.

"I really have to go, Mr. Ennis."

"But what color?"

"You choose. I don't care."

Mr. Ennis looked hurt. He considered himself a craftsman, and he didn't appreciate his work being dismissed with nothing more than an _I don't care_.

"Miz Scarlett, he's waiting!" Called Pork, scandalized.

In desperation, Scarlett turned the full force of her green eyes and bristly black lashes on the hurt and offended Mr. Ennis. Clasping her hands together in a helpless gesture, she said, "Now don't you see? How can I possibly choose? You're so much better at this sort of thing than I. If I tried to decide, my little old head would just bust. Would you choose? Please? For me?"

Mr. Ennis coughed and blushed. She looked so pretty and helpless he couldn't help responding to this little damsel in distress. Straightening himself up to his full height, he patted her shoulder kindly. "Shore, ma'am. You just leave everything to me."

"How can I ever thank you?" She called over her shoulder as she hurried back into the house.

oOoOoOo

Rhett, who had sent Pork outside to find Scarlett, tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his wife to come and wish him farewell. She _always_ wished him farewell. Just as she _always_ greeted him when he came home. Until this visit. _This_ time she was too busy for any such niceties.

Rhett was incensed at this cavalier treatment at the hands of his wife. She should be here to say goodbye when _he_ was ready! Instead, she had run off somewhere and he had to lower himself to asking Pork to find her.

Of course, this line of thought inevitably led to an even more uncomfortable subject to brood over. Why under the stars did he even _care_? He went his way these last years and Scarlett went hers. Fine--he admitted to himself that he hadn't entirely stopped loving her. He had _mostly_ stopped, however--just see how easily he was about to walk out that door right now! Wasn't that proof enough?

And yet--he knew very well, even though he hated to own up to it, that his arrivals and departures were not entirely the random occurrences he would have everybody believe. They were _always_ on a Saturday or a Sunday--when she would not be at her store or at one of those ridiculous ladies' clubs. As if Scarlett gave a fig about ladies' clubs, anyway. The only reason she had joined them was because he had said something that night Melanie died about longing for the old ways and respectability of gentle folks. And silly Scarlett took him at his word and started trying to prove to him that she was a great lady. Of course, the only reason she was even allowed back into the world of the Old Guard was because of Melanie's patronage in her last years--Melanie who had taken it on herself to prove to everyone that she at least didn't believe India's story about Ashley and Scarlett.

But at last, Scarlett swept into the foyer behind Pork. She wasn't grubby and disheveled like at his arrival, but Rhett was still irritated at being left waiting.

"Mr. Ennis had to show me his azaleas and get my approval before he'd let me back in the house," she said with a little laugh.

"How peculiar. I thought _you_ were mistress here. Since when do you take orders from the gardener?"

"Oh, Rhett. You know what I meant. He has that...artistic temperament."

But Rhett wasn't satisfied. Some devil inside him just wouldn't her have the last word. He needed to stir her up a little bit more, try to make her mad. "I don't want to waste my time talking about Mr. Ennis. I'm off for London, then the Continent. It may be a while before I'm back in the States. _You_, of course, can reach me through the bank...in an emergency."

Scarlett lowered her eyes. After all these years, he still had to treat her cruelly. It was times like these that his offer of a divorce was mighty tempting--that is, if it weren't for her pride. She _would_ not be the one to cave. "In that case, Godspeed, Rhett," she murmured and offered her hand.

He took it and inspected it briefly. She hadn't washed since she came in, and it was a little bit dirty from her greeting to the gardener. "Still not the hand of a lady," he said, heavily ironic. Then he touched his hat brim and turned to go, leaving Scarlett stunned once more by his meanness.

oOoOoOo

_When will I ever learn?_, Scarlett thought in anguish as she turned and walked slowly into the dining room. Pork was no where to be seen. He had discreetly disappeared as soon as he delivered Scarlett to the foyer. At least no one had witnessed her humiliation.

She wandered around the long table, lightly trailing her hand along the backs of the chairs, trying to soothe her aching heart. _It's like this every time and yet I'm too foolish to stop hoping_.

She heard the front door close shut and the light, tripping footsteps of Ella crossing the foyer. Scarlett froze. She didn't want to see anybody. She wished she had escaped up to her room. She wondered why she hadn't.

A moment later, Ella poked her ginger head through the door. "There you are, Mother. Did Uncle Rhett leave already?"

Scarlett nodded and Ella sat down in one of the chairs.

"Oh well," said the girl. "Of course, we'll miss him and all, but hopefully it won't be too long before he comes back."

"Did you have a nice walk with Frankie?" Asked Scarlett, desperate to change the subject.

"Yes--but. Oh, Mother, I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm so confused. Frankie says he wants a future with me and that he really cares about me, but I just don't think I'm ready and then there's Albert and then..."

Scarlett had hoped to be diverted by a change of subject, but to her horror, anger and resentment and jealousy reared up in her instead at the sight of Ella with her whole life ahead of her, unmarred by foolish choices. And before she could stop herself, she answered sharply.

"I cannot and will not do this for you, and I'm tired of hearing you forever whining about it. You have two choices. Either you string them both along, or you choose. There--that's it."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Scarlett was appalled at herself for her own harshness towards Ella. After all, the girl had no more wit than God had been pleased to give her and Scarlett's marital problems were certainly not Ella's fault. But then she looked at her daughter's face, saw what began as a flash of anger on Ella's part turn to hurt, and then to a sort of pity directed at Scarlett.

"You're right, Mother," Ella said gently. "I really should just decide and not talk endlessly about it." Then she paused. "It's been a long day, hasn't it? I was thinking I'd like some tea. Shall I have Prissy bring us some? Maybe in the parlor where it's more comfortable?"

Scarlett felt frozen to the spot. Ella's kindness was almost as painful as Rhett's cruelty. Had she really thought her daughter was half-witted? Ella had only been trying to take Scarlett's mind off Rhett, even if her attempts were a bit clumsy--and that meant Ella knew Rhett's absences were not "business trips". What else did Ella know? Scarlett shrank into herself with humiliation at the thought that Ella knew _so_ much about her marriage...

She managed a sickly smile and said wearily, "It has been a long day. But no, I don't want tea. Have Prissy bring you some, by all means, but I believe I'll just retire to my room. It would be nice to relax and maybe go to bed early."

Scarlett then came around the table--a bit unsteadily--and gave Ella an awkward hug. Then she shooed her out of the room and waited until Ella was out of eyesight before turning to the liquor cabinet.

That night Scarlett drank the entire decanter of brandy.

oOoOoOo

Elsie Wellburn was an unhappy young lady these days. Well, perhaps unhappy was too strong a word. After all, how could the girl who was still the belle of Atlanta, the beauty of her generation, who had collected more beaux, let alone marriage proposals, of any girl around be unhappy? Elsie was, however, utterly disgruntled. If there was one thing she could never tolerate, it was the defection of one of her beaux. And Wade Hampton Hamilton had been the most devoted of them all.

But what she could barely stand, apart from the loss of his adoration, was that is attentions had been transferred from her to that insignificant poor white hired girl Marybeth Dandridge.

What Wade could possibly see in her was beyond Elsie's ability to figure out. She had no social position, lacked vivacity and sparkle and certainly did not have the beauty Elsie had. All these uncomfortable considerations brought Elsie's predatory nature to the fore.

It wasn't even that Elsie had just let him walk away. When she noticed his attention drifting, she started a campaign to bring him back into the fold. For instance, she paid him extra attention at that party Raoul had. She singled him out, had him sit right next to her, and directed most of her best flirtation at him. But for some reason it didn't work. He left early. And come to think of it, Marybeth had left early, too.

And come to think of it even more, it had been weeks since he'd called on her.

This afternoon everybody was at Virgie Simmons house. And you had to give credit to Virgie. For all her tiresome airs about her singing and acting and art, she knew how to host a lovely party.

In fact, there was Virgie right now, circulating among her guests who were clustered here and there around the parlor and the dining room and even the back veranda, for it had a spacious awning--a welcome feature, because the day was warm, but it was raining off and on.

Virgie approached Elsie. "How good of you to come, Sugar," she murmured as she kissed Elsie's cheek. That was the other annoying thing about Virgie. She _would_ insist on calling people nicknames in season and out of season. And besides, Elsie wasn't fooled. Virgie didn't like her--they were only cordially polite to each other. But they both had something in common. They were the children of the Old Guard--trained to a certain amount of polite hypocrisy. Elsie understood why the social forms had to be used--she didn't think any less of Virgie for using them. Not at all. She simply disliked Virgie for herself--and the fact that she was friends with people like Ella and Marybeth.

When Virgie moved on to greet her next clump of guests, Elsie continued her perusal of the room even as the young man currently at her side tried valiantly to gain her attention. Long years of experience had taught her to flirt with one man and scan the room for her next victim at the same time. And finally she saw him--Wade was in the next room, visible through the double doors. He had just whispered something to Marybeth that made her smile up at him with amusement before she clapped a hand over her mouth. And Elsie had to admit--the other girl was rather pretty when she smiled like that.

Elsie turned her attention back to her current suitor and waited.

The next time she glanced into the other room, Virgie was talking to Jenny and Marybeth, and the three girls were laughing over something one of them had said. Wade was gone. Oddly enough, Ella was nowhere to be seen, either--probably off somewhere with Frankie Bonnell. Elsie thought with malicious pleasure how Ella's fun and games would stop when Albert Whiting came home from University. A girl like Elsie could keep a string of beaux dangling, but such a feat would be beyond someone with the meager charms of Ella Lorena Kennedy. It would serve Ella right if both her beaux jilted her.

Elsie shook her head as if to clear her mind. This was not the time to think about Ella. The most important question was: where's Wade? She detached herself from her eager-but-wearisome suitor and went looking.


	32. morning glory 6

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Wade had excused himself from Marybeth earlier. Joe Whiting had just bought a new horse that he had driven to the party. Now he wanted to show it off to his friends. Wade went with the others to see it and had remained in the stable for some time discussing horses with Joe. Then he decided he really did need to see a man about a horse. So it was some time later that he made his way through the back yard and towards the kitchen door. It was away from the back veranda and usually deserted.

And sitting on the kitchen steps was Elsie Wellburn. She was all alone and bent over, head down, holding her ankle with both hands.

Wade paused at the bottom of the steps. "What's the matter, Elsie?"

She startled and looked at him, then looked away quickly as if embarrassed. "Ohh, you'll think I'm an awful goose, but I believe I sprained my ankle."

"Then we should send for Dr. Meade."

"No. Oh no, that won't be necessary. I'll be fine, I'm sure of it. But if you could help me back into the house...?"

He shrugged and went to her. Carefully he helped her up on to her good foot. "Hold the railing," he instructed and she complied. With an arm around her back to steady her, he half-carried, half-guided her up the steps and into the back door.

The door opened into an anteroom, a place of storage for the household odds and ends or to take off muddy boots. He tried to take her into the kitchen, but she resisted.

"Just put me over there--on that bench." She pointed to a rather decrepit-looking piece of furniture.

"But the sofa in the parlor would be better," he countered.

"Please. I really must catch my breath."

Accordingly, he helped her onto the bench and she smiled her gratitude to him. "I didn't know you were so strong, Wade."

He took an involuntary step backward and glanced at the door. "I'll go get..."

"Ow!" Elsie cried.

"Elsie?"

"I think," she gasped, "you will need to fetch someone after all, but could you do me a favor first? Could you look at it?"

"I'm not a doctor..."

"It really hurts. _Please_ look at it?" And she gazed at him helplessly.

Wade hunkered down in front of her to see. It didn't look swollen, but she insisted it was painful. He touched it gingerly, feeling for any deformity...

"Your hands are warm and comforting, Wade. It feels good when you rub..."

Startled, he looked up at her. She was leaning back, arms behind her on the bench and she had arched her back a little bit, showing off her figure by making her waist look smaller. Her eyes locked on his for a moment before she reached out and touched his neck lightly.

He pulled his hands away from her as if he'd been burned and jumped to his feet. "Elsie, stop it," he said sternly.

Suddenly she seemed to wilt and then she burst into tears. "Oh Wade! I don't know what just came over me!" She reached into her sleeve for her handkerchief. "I'm so ashamed. I know you can never respect me again. Oh Wade..." and she broke down utterly.

The sight of her tears was nearly his undoing. He felt helpless and vaguely guilty that he had made her cry. "There Elsie, don't cry--please don't. Of course I still respect you. Elsie, please..." He tried to comfort her with words because he didn't dare touch her. But Elsie refused to be that easily comforted. She cried as he watched uneasily until she was cried out. Then she looked up at him with damp eyes. "I'm sorry Wade."

He shook his head quickly and waved off her apology. He wanted to get away from her and soon.

"I know I shouldn't ask you for anything else after you've been so kind--but I think I would like to retire to the parlor after all." She reached out to pull herself up on the back of a chair nearby. She was halfway to standing and when he saw her struggling, he stepped towards her reluctantly to help her, but she waved him away with a little laugh. "I think I can try it alone this time. It doesn't hurt as much as it did a few minutes ago and--owww!" She wailed loudly and started to crumple. Wade caught her in his arms. She put her head down, resting her forehead against his chest, and took a deep breath. "I guess I'm not as ready to walk as I thought," she giggled as she looked back up at him through her lashes.

Wade looked at her smiling, upturned face. So here she was in his arms. The very thing he had dreamed of for years--now come true. He couldn't deny that there was a certain sweetness in the attainment of a long cherished dream--she was no less beautiful then when he'd first fallen for her and the way she sighed as she nestled in his arms made his heart skip a beat and yet, somehow--it wasn't quite what he'd imagined--as if something vitally important were missing. "I'll take you into the parlor now," he mumbled.

"Oh, Wade, you're so wonderful to take care of me like this. But I've always known you're wonderful. We've been friends a long time, haven't we, Wade? Friends you and me? And I've missed you so lately-I've hardly seen you at all these last few weeks and I'm sure I don't know why you never come around anymore. But you won't be such a stranger from now on, will you? After all, you do care for me, don't you Wade?" She shifted slightly in his arms and was frankly leaning against him.

Wade looked at her in dismay, not knowing how to answer her. Elsie was the dream of his youthful years, the girl to whom he had given his single-minded, if unrequited devotion, here in his arms, saying the very things he had longed to hear from her mouth. Not to mention that the way she was brushing against him was causing some _very_ disturbing sensations. But sometimes even the dreams of many years turn out to be illusions when actually attained. Before he could reply, however, a new voice broke in.

"You had better give her an answer, Wade Hampton Hamilton, because I'm anxious to hear it, too."

He and Elsie turned at the same moment to see Marybeth in the doorway. She was leaning casually against the threshold, arms crossed, one foot in front of the other--an almost masculine pose. But her eyes glittered dangerously and Wade almost didn't know who he should be more worried for--himself or Elsie. Marybeth certainly looked capable of violence at this moment.

"Oh, and know this before you answer--you can't have us both," Marybeth concluded.

Wade looked from her to Elsie. He knew exactly who he wanted--he didn't need time to think or decide. But he found himself unable to answer. He felt wretched over Marybeth finding him here like this with Elsie. The entire situation was silly and undignified and his head was still spinning from this whole encounter. As he looked down at Elsie he felt resentment stir against her for her silly tricks and artifice and guile. He was so wrapped up in this thought that he didn't realize he still hadn't answered Elsie's question.

But Marybeth _was_ aware that he hadn't given them an answer. "Goodbye Wade," she said as she threw her hands in the air and brushed past them both, leaving through the kitchen door and letting it close with a resounding _slam_.

oOoOoOo

Marybeth stomped down the stairs and around the front of the house. It wasn't until she was almost at the stable that she realized she was wet. It was raining again. She wished she were a man and could swear, because now she was stuck here. If it had been sunny she would have stomped all the way home.

She let herself into the stable and to her relief it was empty--even Joe Whiting was gone now. Wade's carriage horse, Cinnamon, nickered at her softly and she went and stroked its velvety nose. _How could he? How could he choose Elsie? Even if she was his first love..._

She was angry and humiliated, letting herself fall for Wade, letting herself fall in love with Wade, because that's what it was--love. She loved him madly and it would be a long time before this healed, this wound he dealt her.

"You're lucky you're a dumb animal," she muttered to Cinnamon.

"I see you're still talking to my horse," Wade said softly behind her.

Marybeth stiffened, but would not turn around. She hadn't heard him come in through the other doorway. "I'm still talking to everybody, Wade. I'm merely waiting for the rain to let up. Then I'm going home."

"I wish you would stay."

"No. I don't wish to be _here_ anymore."

"Marybeth, about upstairs..."

She sighed impatiently. "I don't own you Wade, and you certainly don't owe me any explanations."

"But I _want _to explain. Would you please turn around?"

"No."

"You're not making this easy."

"Why _should_ I make this easy for you?"

"Because I'm trying to tell you how I feel about you. That I care about _you_."

At that, Marybeth turned around, but her face was suspicious.

"I found Elsie alone on the stairs and she said she hurt her ankle and I helped her into the house." He realized that Marybeth was now looking at him very strangely. "Then--I'm not sure what happened. She said--she said--oh, a lot of things, but it doesn't matter, I tell you." He ran his hand through his hair, nervously. "After you left, I told her that I didn't care about her in that way."

Marybeth looked at him and down at her clasped hands. She hadn't even realized she was wringing them. "You really said all that?" She asked low.

"Yes, and in front of witnesses."

"Witnesses...?"

"Sort of. You see, Elsie was incensed by my answer and drew rather a large crowd as she grew quite nasty and told me her opinion of me. Loudly"

"Really?"

"And if that weren't enough, she gave me a very hard slap."

"Humph. I should be the one to give you a slap."

"Oh?"

"For crying out loud, Wade. The _sprained ankle_ is the oldest trick in the book! And you fell for it." She was still looking at him suspiciously, but there was a trace of scornful humor in her expression.

Wade was cautiously relieved that she seemed to believe him. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow at her and continued the playful banter. "Really? And what pray tell, is the second oldest trick?"

"Well..." she paused. "I suppose it would be _something in my eye_."

His lips twitched. "You'll have to explain it to me."

"You know the one--she says--_there's something in my eye_. And he says--_let me take a look_. And she goes up to him and tips her head back like this." She demonstrated.

Having her in close proximity, even in this mocking mood, gave him courage. He touched her cheek lightly. "Marybeth, you do know how I feel about you, don't you? You do know I care?"

She looked up at him, eyes bright and a little bit wary. Cautiously, he took her hands and pulled her close against him--and noticed that she offered no resistance. Then he leaned in and kissed her gently. His every nerve ending was alive and tingling and he was torn with anxiety that she would refuse him--especially after what happened today. But his desire for her was stronger than his fear and to his delight he realized her mouth was moving under his. His pulse quickened--this was too good to be true. Emboldened by her acquiescence, he kissed her more firmly and his arms went around her waist, pressing her strongly to him, feeling her soften and mold herself against him. Oh, she felt made for him! If he could only hold her like this forever--if only he never had to stop...

Marybeth's hands were on his shoulders and she gripped him convulsively as the stable floor seemed to dip and sway, making her dizzy. She gasped as he tightened his arms around her, breaking their kiss and murmuring her name before he moved his lips to the side of her throat, slipping the fingers of one hand into her hair and loosening half the pins in the process. Her arms twined around his neck and with a sigh she gave herself over to the delightful sensations rushing through her, her only wish being that she could stay here in the stable with him forever--held in his arms with his mouth against her skin creating such wonderful, delicious, _shivery_ feelings--and that time could stop right now. She had never been moved so powerfully by anyone's kiss before--not Miklos', not William's, not Alex's--none of them had so filled her with this strange, new yearning. But on the heels of yearning, seemingly from out of nowhere she was seized by fear, and she pushed away from him, imploring, "That's enough, Wade."

He held her upper arms, holding her at arms' length as he looked searchingly into her face. She was still dizzy and she felt the way his hands on her arms were trembling, even while his eyes remained dark with longing. They looked at each other for a few moments, sheepishly, shocked at what had just sparked between them. Drawing a ragged breath, she said, I have to go now."

"Go?" He asked incredulously. "But--but it's raining."

"I'll go cross-lots." Stepping away from his arms, she put her wrap up over her head.

"But Ella and I were supposed to take you home. What'll I tell my sister?"

Marybeth laughed, a laughter tinged with just a bit of hysteria and started to trot across the yard, away from him, away from what just happened.

He took off in pursuit of her, stopping her with a hand on her arm. "I'm coming to see you tomorrow--I'm coming to call on you."

"Thank you, Wade."

They were standing under a clump of trees, protected from the worst of the rain, although water rolled off the leaves with occasional, heavy plops.

"This is hardly the time or the place," he said as a drop fell on his bare head. He'd left his hat inside. "But I have to say it. I love you, Marybeth. And not," he hastened to add, "because of what just happened in the stable."

She grasped his hand. "I know, I know."

He leaned in again to kiss her one more time. And as their lips met, her body swayed towards his, seemingly of its own volition.

Afterward, they looked at each other a few more moments, then Marybeth said, "Until tomorrow, Wade," and she turned and headed home.

Mrs. Meade was indignant when she saw Marybeth arrive, soaked to the skin.

"Get yourself upstairs, young lady, and out of those wet clothes. No, never mind trying to explain, I don't want to hear it. Just climb into bed. Betsy! Heat up a brick for Marybeth's feet. Honestly, girl, sometimes you just seem to lack all common sense."

Marybeth settled down under the covers, being warmed by the brick and the hot tea that Betsy brought to her, her head swimming with thoughts of Wade. Who would have thought he could move her like that? Who would have thought his kisses could make her respond that way? Her mother, Annamaria, was wont to say how the stillest tarns were the deepest. It was certainly true here.

oOoOoOo

Later that evening Dr. Meade came upstairs to see Marybeth. He felt her forehead and checked her glands as she submitted meekly to his examination.

"I think it's just a cold, but I want you to stay in bed all day tomorrow. No use in taking chances," he pronounced.

Marybeth nodded humbly.

When he rejoined his wife in the kitchen, she pounced on him for information.

"There's no need to worry," he said. "She has no fever, but her nose is badly congested. Keep that hot brick at her feet all day tomorrow--it will draw the inflammation from her head."

"I know, I know. I have taken care of the sick before," said Mrs. Meade, who was still irate, but her relief was visible.

"So she caught this cold walking home in the rain?" Dr. Meade pressed.

Mrs. Meade sniffed. "You should have seen her when she came home, all dripping wet and grinning like an idiot. Do you want to know what I think happened?"

He shrugged.

"I think Wade finally got up the courage to kiss her and now she's completely taken leave of her senses over it."

He shrugged again. "That would have been my diagnosis, too. But isn't this what you wanted? For the two of them to fall in love?"

"Yes, but...I hoped she would act a little more sensible about it. It's just Wade Hamilton, after all."

"Ah, but in her eyes he's not _just_ Wade Hamilton. He's the man she loves. And I'll wager he's just as gone on her. Besides, don't forget, dear wife, that in spring a young man's thoughts..."

"I'll thank you not to repeat that ridiculous quote to me."

"It doesn't seem that long ago that you were my own darling Caroline Morgan. Before, of course, you gave me the honor of being my wife." He took her hand and kissed it with mock solemnity.

"Stop it. Stop it right this minute," she said, trying to sound stern, although she looked away with a little smile.


	33. morning glory 7

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Tempus nascendi et tempus moriendi...**

Prissy knocked on Ella's bedroom door as she sat plying her needle. The previous week Marybeth had finished a strawberry patterned embroidery that Ella admired so much she wound up giving her the pattern so she could make one for herself.

"Albert Whiting hyah t' see you, Miz Ella."

Ella sighed heavily and put down her needlework. She knew this time was coming. He had written to her with the date of his arrival home--and could he call on her then?

She wrote him back that he may.

Ella followed Prissy to the parlor and had her first good look at Albert since Christmas. Funny--even though he had been in her thoughts every day over these last months, and he had written her frequently, yet somehow he seemed different from the way she remembered him. A trifle shorter, stockier, his hair darker. Not better or worse, just different. Perhaps distance and time made memories fuzzy.

However, his smile was just as she remembered as he strode across the parlor to greet her and take both her hands. "Ella, I'm so happy to see you."

She smiled wanly, "Me too."

"It seems like it's been forever."

She sighed and nodded.

He put a finger under her chin and tipped her face to his. "You don't look very happy." His eyes were full of concern.

One of her hands was still in his and she squeezed it. "I need to talk to you--about something."

"Good. Because there's something I would like to discuss with you," he said shyly.

Ella felt a prickle of anxiety before she dropped her eyes.

The early evening air was blowing through the parlor windows, warm and breezy. Albert drew her arm through his and walked her to the sofa. After she settled herself in, he sat on an ottoman at her feet, and took her hands again. "Now, Ella--what would you like to say to me?" He looked up at her kindly.

All of a sudden, it came back to her--why she cared for him in the first place. He was kind and patient, he made her feel special--not to mention he had written her that lovely sonnet. No, it wasn't strange that she cared for him. If only he were more forward in his courtship. If only he had declared himself--given any sort of hint at all of what he wanted from her.

"Well--you see--" she stammered. Then she took a deep breath and stated flatly, "Frankie Bonnell's been calling on me." She looked down at her lap.

He tightened his grasp but didn't answer for a moment. Ella didn't dare look up. When he did speak, his voice was strained--he was striving to remain calm. "You're receiving someone else?"

Ella plucked up the courage to look at him. His face reflected his tone of voice--strained calm. But he looked so pale she panicked. "Albert, don't look like that! Are you so very angry? I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"No--no--" he stammered. "I'm just--surprised--that's all."

Ella knew he was lying.

Then Albert spoke again. "May I ask why?"

Ella paused and thought. What seemed like a fun and lighthearted flirtation at the time--kissing a boy at a dance--now seemed cheap and tawdry. Especially since she hadn't even particularly had any tender feelings towards Frankie. Over the months that followed, she had learned to care about him. But that was just it--_learned_ to care for him. (Was one even supposed to learn how to care for someone else? Or should love come upon a person suddenly like a thunderclap?) And furthermore, that lighthearted flirtation now meant that somebody would wind up hurt--the last thing tenderhearted Ella wanted. "We just...at a dance...you know how these things happen sometimes ... and it isn't as if I planned this..."

"You didn't plan it, but it happened anyway."

His tone was now faintly accusatory. Ella was unable to endure the uncomfortable feeling of guilt for very long--and she was feeling it in abundance while he was trying to be kind and understanding. Now that he was showing some spark of anger, however, Ella felt a wave of defiance rise up. "Yes. But it isn't as if you asked me to wait for you, either," she flung at him.

He shrugged helplessly. "That was poor judgment on my part. I see now I should have spoken before. But try to understand--you're so young, Ella, I didn't want you to feel tied to me so far away. I didn't want you to feel obligated to sit out dances or miss out on the jolly times your friends were having. But it didn't mean that I don't care..." He looked so wide-eyed and bewildered that Ella felt overwhelmed with tenderness. Guilt came rushing back. Furthermore she felt very small and petty to question his devotion when the signs were so obvious--now.

And yet--as she looked at the young man holding her hands, she couldn't quite forget the past months, when her emotions were tossed back and forth on waves of confusion and self-doubt. He _could_ have spared her all that. With just one word he could have prevented her from even looking at another man. Unbidden, the defiant mood returned and squashed the feelings of guilt. In a flash she thought--she was fond of Frankie, but Albert was really the one who was dear to her. If he had only spoken up sooner!

"I thought it was obvious that I care about you," he added.

For Ella, still feeling defiant, his unconscious echoing of her own thoughts was the last straw.

Albert saw the play of emotions across Ella's face, but had no idea of where her thoughts were heading. Accordingly, he was amazed when she flew at him in a rage, face reddened, pounding him with her fists.

"How dare you say it was _obvious_--" she gasped as she pounded him on the chest. "How _dare_ you--you didn't_ tell_ me--you made me_ wonder_!" She pounded on him as she railed at him and he lost his balance on the little ottoman and fell backward to the floor under her onslaught. She was kneeling over him now, swinging at him as he tried vainly to grab her wrists. "_None_ of this had to happen! If I had only known--I wouldn't have--I would never--" She stopped suddenly in confusion, panting heavily and Albert scuttled away from her reach.

Before either of them could say another word, the parlor door flew open and a very indignant Scarlett Butler stood in the doorway, hands on hips.

"Ella Lorena Kennedy! What is the meaning of this?" Scarlett demanded sternly, eyes flashing at such a breach of decorum.

Ella looked up at her mother guiltily. She was embarrassed, but she was still angry at Albert.

Before she could speak, Albert stood up hastily. "It was all my fault, Mrs. Butler. I...upset Ella. I didn't intend to, of course," he shot a meaningful glance at Ella, who glared back at him.

"Hmph. Then may I ask you to refrain from upsetting my excitable daughter in the future? Or do I have to worry about the safety of rest of my house?" Scarlett retorted. Ella looked down on the floor where Scarlett now directed her gaze. She had upset a vase in her attack on Albert. Luckily it hadn't broken, nor had there been water in it. Sheepishly Ella picked up the vase and put it back on the table where it belonged. Albert helped her to her feet.

"The house is safe, Mother. I'll remember myself from now on," said Ella, now the picture of abject humility.

Scarlett raised her eyebrow at Ella, a look that gave her to know there would be a lecture later that evening about Proper Behavior When Young Gentlemen Call. Mother was not one to harp on every little point of etiquette--she was too preoccupied most of the time--but even she had limits. Giving the two culprits one final withering glance, she swept out of the room, leaving Ella and Albert alone once more.

"I'm sorry I got you into trouble, Ella."

Ella shook her head and waved him off. "It doesn't matter." She sat down glumly on the sofa.

"You're wrong. It does. Believe me when I say I didn't want to tie you down. But actually, I also had other reasons for not speaking up sooner, and you may as well hear it from me."

Ella looked up at him politely, although her politeness was decidedly strained. She was still overwrought and in no mood to listen to some long-winded recitation from him--or from anybody. All she wanted was to head upstairs to her room to mope--and wait for Mother's private scolding. Scoldings from Mother were always unpleasant--and Ella had learned that it was better to just get them over with.

Albert didn't seem to notice her listless detachment. He glanced out one of the windows to avoid looking directly into her eyes.

"This is rather embarrassing. Not to mention awkward. But you see, I got into some trouble early in my University days--before I was courting you."

Despite herself, Ella felt a spark of interest. "Go on," she encouraged.

"I hope you won't judge me too harshly when you hear me out."

Ella shook her head and waved dismissively.

Albert sighed and plunged in. "What you have to understand, Ella, is that University life is different. Despite the efforts of the administration to chaperone us, there are still plenty of opportunities to get into mischief.

"Anyway, I fell in with a rather fast crowd in my freshman year. A lot of them were older than me. I was flattered by their attention and flattered to be included. Their favorite entertainment was to go to the saloons and gambling houses. Naturally, I didn't want them to think I was a goody-goody and so I went along.

"I had beginner's luck with faro and whist and that made me over-confident. Then my luck changed, as luck always does, and I started to get deeper and deeper into debt. I was a fairly skilled player, but the other players were better--my successes at gaming never quite kept up with my mounting debts. This went on almost my entire freshman year.

"Then one night about a month away from exams, we were all drinking and gaming and things became over heated. Words were said and then the accusations flew and the end result was a serious brawl--one of the students was injured quite badly. It came to the attention of the University dean and all of us were nearly expelled. But thanks to the impassioned pleas of our parents, we were put on probation instead. And thank Heaven the injured student made a full recovery."

Albert looked at Ella now. She was staring at him, wide eyed, and Albert blushed. "I swear to you, I haven't gambled since. And I've been working to pay off my debts. As of last month I'm finally even."

Ella stared at him, trying to take it all in. She had never heard even a hint of this story--naturally, his family would keep such a scandal hushed. He looked so ashamed her compassionate heart was moved with sympathy--especially since he had turned away from such things now.

"What do you think of me now, Ella? Now that you know."

"Well..." she paused, trying to think of the right words. "Everybody makes mistakes and nobody's perfect. Also it was a long time ago. But if you're asking if I think you're a bad person, the answer is no."

He looked relieved. "That was the other reason I didn't want to make you wait for me--I still had all those debts to pay off and I didn't know how long it would take."

"That makes sense."

"But if you don't want me to call on you anymore, I understand."

She shook her head wearily. "No, Albert. I still want to see you."

He sat next to her on the sofa now. "Thank you, Ella. I was so afraid you wouldn't respect me anymore. You can't imagine how relieved I am." He was relieved, but he also felt a twinge of guilt. He had told her most of the truth about that night in the gaming house, but not the entire truth. _Well_, he comforted himself, _after all there were some things you just didn't tell a lady. _


	34. morning glory 8

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Marybeth sat on the back porch of the Meades' home shelling peas she picked that morning from the garden as Wade read to her from_ Loves Labours' Lost_. She listened attentively as he read, and when he came to a word she didn't know or a passage that was obscure, she would look up at him or ask him a question and he would stop to explain it to her. Edward and Christina played in the back yard as she worked.

At one point she looked up and didn't see her boy.

"Edward!" She called. Immediately he emerged from behind the wood pile. "Stay where Mama can see you." He ran off again to play. Marybeth turned to Wade. "Ever since he turned three he likes to watch Old Talbot with the horse. I'm afraid he'll end up under it's hooves--even though Betsy says Old Talbot is very careful and would never let that happen," She lowered her voice. "But he is old, after all. I'm afraid he won't see it if Edward gets too close."

Wade nodded sympathetically. "Little boys like to look at horses and carriages. You'll have a hard time keeping him away. Although I can't say I even remember what it was like to be three. I know Mother and I were living with Aunt Pittypat but only because they've told me stories from that time--and how we refugeed before Sherman's army. But I only recall snatches of it anymore. And sometimes I wonder if I really remember it or if I've heard about it so many times I just think I remember."

"Well of course you don't remember," replied Marybeth confidently. "You were too little. But if you had been a bit older, it would have been quite an adventure."

"I never thought about it as having an adventure. At the time it was probably more terrifying than adventurous."

Marybeth nodded and resumed her shelling as Wade resumed his reading to her. The back door creaked and Mrs. Meade stepped out on to the porch. Wade jumped up to give her his seat. He left his book on the table and Mrs. Meade eyed it curiously.

Suddenly there was a shriek--Christina stood by one of the rose bushes, holding her finger and crying loudly. Marybeth put the bowl of peas on the table and ran down the steps. Crouching in front of her daughter, she saw a tiny stinger in the finger. She plucked it out swiftly with a pin from her pocket, then picked the girl up to comfort her. With a few drops of water from the rain barrel she made a little mud plaster and put it over the sting, holding the mud in place with her own hand. Then she carried Christina over to the steps and sat down with the crying child, rocking her back and forth until she hushed and leaned wearily against Marybeth's shoulder.

Edward watched all of this with interest. "Chrissy getted a bee sting," He explained to Wade before he sat on the step below Marybeth and patted his sister.

"Should I go for Dr. Meade?" Wade asked. He had followed her when she went to Christina. He looked worried.

Marybeth smiled at him over the baby's head. "No. It's just a sting." She looked down at her daughter. She was wigglng now, squirming and tussling with her brother for space on Marybeth's lap. "You see? She's fine." With that she carried her up the steps to the table where Mrs. Meade was now shelling the peas. She put the child in Mrs. Meade's lap and took the bowl to resume her task.

Shortly afterwards Wade said he was expected home. Marybeth walked with him through the house to the front door.

Before they reached the front porch, they took a short detour. Secure in the knowledge that Betsy was cooking supper in the kitchen and Mrs. Meade was out back, Wade ducked into the parlor with Marybeth and took her in his arms. Ever since the afternoon in the Simmons' stable, he did this whenever they were alone--which was rare enough, truth to say. It seemed to the young sweethearts that there were _always_ people around. He kissed her and held her close and she sighed happily. But even in the parlor interruptions were a possibility and reluctantly he let her go and took his leave of her.

When Marybeth returned to the back porch, Mrs. Meade was shelling the peas again and Marybeth took the bowl away from her again. The older lady's fingers ached when she did too much fine work. But she was too proud to admit it. Marybeth played along, never mentioning Mrs. Meade's arthritis. She would just quietly spare her as much as she could.

"So, what was Wade reading to you earlier?" Mrs. Meade asked.

"Shakespeare--he was explaining it to me."

"Is that right?" Mrs. Meade asked in a polite tone of voice, but her expression was dubious.

Marybeth laughed a little. "I want to be able to talk to him about such things intelligently."

Mrs. Meade looked at her, bewildered. "But--but--you don't have to put yourself through all that! He already loves you--for yourself, for your sweet disposition and pretty face, and not to mention that you make him feel strong and masterful. But he can find other men to have intellectual conversations with--he doesn't expect you to do that. So you don't have to strain yourself." With that she patted the younger woman's hand reassuringly and leaned back in her chair.

Now it was Marybeth's turn to be bewildered. "I'm not only doing this to impress Wade--not entirely. I do like to read."

"I know that dear. And praise be you only read good books and not those horrid dime novels." Mrs. Meade shuddered fastidiously. "However, a man grows uneasy when he thinks a lady might be smarter than he is."

Marybeth laughed outright. "I hardly think Wade has anything to fear from _me_ on that score. He's been to University and my own education--well..." she shrugged. "But I don't want to look ignorant, either."

"You're not ignorant, Marybeth. Nobody thinks so. And besides, men expect their wives to have some sense."

"Mrs. Meade..." Marybeth said warningly. The older woman's casual assurance that hers and Wade's courtship would end at the altar made her uneasy.

Mrs. Meade waved her hand. "I know what you're going to say, dear. He hasn't asked for you--yet. But it's distinctly unfeminine for a woman to be unduly concerned with scholarship. Not to mention that the female sex is frail and unsuited for such mental exertions."

Marybeth bent her head over the bowl. But she looked at Mrs. Meade sideways, under her lashes. A whole year had gone by since she first started working for the older woman and Marybeth felt she understood her well. Mrs. Meade could be quite high-handed at times, but Marybeth also knew that she only had her best interests at heart--at least as she perceived her "best interests". Something mischievous rose up in her and she couldn't resist teasing a bit. "But what about women's colleges? They don't hold that women are frail. I even heard about colleges where women and men go to classes _together_. And the women students don't fall short, either--sometimes they're even at the top of their class."

Mrs. Meade shuddered again. "I always thought grown men and women competing against each other like that is the height of immodesty. And while girls may rise to the tops of their classes, they do it at the risk of ruining their health. I can say this to you--who have had two children--girls should not be exerting themselves unduly during," and she lowered her voice, " _that_ time of the month."

Marybeth nodded slowly. She'd heard it before--all the doctors said so. And yet--she knew farm women who had no chance to rest during their menses. However, they often had vigorous health and large families. She didn't mention this to Mrs. Meade. But she couldn't resist saying, "Well then, look at Mrs. Gibbons from the Sewing Circle. She went to college and got her degree and yet she married and has four healthy children."

"She is one of the lucky ones," Mrs. Meade asserted darkly. "Besides, what was the point after all--all that fancy education and for what? Everything a woman needs to know she can learn from her own mother. I happen to know they don't teach housekeeping or child-rearing at those colleges. Oh, I know _that_ look, Marybeth. You won't say it to my face, but you secretly think I'm quite old fashioned."

Marybeth grinned at her but didn't deny it.

Mrs. Meade shook her head sternly but couldn't entirely repress a smile. "Oh, you young girls today with all your modern ideas. But never mind about that. We can discuss female emancipation some other time. Can you play the piano? I've never heard you try."

"No," Marybeth replied, confused by this abrupt change of subject.

"You can sing. I've heard you. But your handwriting is only passable. What about drawing? Can you speak French?"

"No and no."

"Do you have any accomplishments?"

Marybeth thought about that. She had survived life on the streets. At the time that seemed like a momentous accomplishment, but now when she had regained a place among nice people, the things she had done--although necessary to survival--were not ladylike at all, and she didn't want to talk about them. Then there were the things she excelled at when she was a little girl. She had been a terrible tomboy who prided herself on things like spitting the farthest of any of the other children. That--and running the fastest and shooting rabbits. She had had a decent aim for shooting. She couldn't speak French, but Annamaria had taught her to speak a little Italian--although even that ability was rusty now from years without speaking or hearing it. Marybeth shook her head.

"Wade is from an Old Guard family, and his career is destined to follow in his Uncle Henry Hamilton's footsteps. He needs a lady who knows how to move in our society with graciousness and dignity. In other words, a lady with accomplishments."

Marybeth frowned and nodded her head slowly as she thought this over. She certainly didn't want to be a hindrance to Wade as he made his way forward. She didn't want to presume on his love for her that far.

Mrs. Meade watched the play of emotions on the younger woman's face. This was her chance. "What you need are some accomplishments, dear. Just put yourself in my hands and I can help you. Tomorrow we'll start with the piano."

oOoOoOo

Ella leaned across the big iron stag, looking out over the back garden, and reflected darkly. She was all by herself for once because both Albert and Frankie were at work. And it was just as well. She didn't want to see either of them. She felt too confused. But she turned at a sound coming from the side gate and saw a familiar tall young man with blond hair closing it behind him. In a flash she ran across the yard to throw her arms around his neck.

"Cousin Beau! Welcome home! Am I ever happy to see you!"

Beau's heart skipped, but unlike that time last fall when she'd surprised him with her embrace, he hugged her so tightly her feet were lifted off the ground, making her laugh. He set her back down and she grasped his hand.

"It seem's like forever since you've been gone! How were the last weeks of school? Did you get your papers done? How were exams? Did you get high marks? I know you wanted high marks--just like Wade always did."

"Yes, school went well, and yes, I got high marks, and yes, it's very good to be back home. I missed you too."

"You're not long on details, are you?" She teased him. "And no sooner did you finish classes, than you turned around and stayed a whole extra month working for your professor. But forget it--I'll give you a proper scolding later. You must come in and have something to drink. Remember when we were children and Cookie made us eat in the kitchen because she and Prissy were afraid we would muss the parlor? Let's pretend we're little again and snack in the kitchen. And you must tell me everything that happened at school. Your letters are always so brief!"

Beau smiled the familiar drowsy smile--so like his father's--that Ella found so comforting and followed her into the kitchen.

Cookie and Prissy were nowhere in sight. Ella served her cousin herself, pouring two glasses of milk from the icebox as Beau seated himself comfortably in one of the kitchen chairs.

"Look, Beau--we have cookies today," exclaimed Ella happily as the she arranged the food on the table. Then she sat down. "Now--tell me everything about everything."

So Beau told her all about his adventures at University and Ella listened with rapt attention. She really was a satisfying audience. And he told her that.

"D'you think so?" She laughed. "Maybe I'm just so happy to talk to

somebody who isn't crazy."

Now it was Beau's turn to laugh. "Am I to believe that every last person in Atlanta has been declared insane in my absence?"

"No, of course not. It's just that--Oh, Beau, I've been so foolish..." And she poured out the story of Albert and how she'd become involved with Frankie, too.

If Beau was pained by listening to this impassioned recitation, he hid it well. Or perhaps he took heart at her obvious indecision.

"You don't really want my advice, do you Ella? I think you know in your heart what you need to do. You just wanted to pour this out to a sympathetic listener."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. You know, it's been lonely around here with you gone. It's funny--I so looked forward to Wade's coming home from his Grand Tour--and _don't_ tell him Î said so--but now that he's back _here_ he's never at _home_ anymore. He's either at work or at the Meades' courting Marybeth or shut up in his room studying law. I don't know why he still has to study. Isn't that why he went to Harvard for four years? I should think he would have learned it all by now--he _was_ second in his class."

Beau didn't laugh at her or try to explain why her brother needed to continually keep abreast of new cases. But he couldn't resist saying, "I'm sorry to hear you're lonely despite juggling two ardent suitors."

Ella completely missed the teasing note in his voice. She looked at him out of the grey eyes that always made Beau think of tobacco smoke in a crowded room. "It's not as much fun as Elsie makes it seem. Sometimes--and this is a secret, Beau, don't tell anyone--I wish I'd never met either of them."

Beau looked away quickly to hide the glimmer of hope he knew must be showing in his face.

"You've been a chum to me as long as I can remember," Ella continued. "And forgive me if I sound too sentimental, but you've been more than a cousin to me. In fact, you've been almost like a brother. Do you know that?"

"That you see me like a brother?" He laughed shortly and twirled one of her tresses around his finger. "Yes, Ella, I know it." Then he tugged her hair. Just like when they were children.


	35. morning glory 9

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

And so the summer progressed. Wade courted Marybeth and her personality blossomed in the assurance of his love. The cautious stiffness she had acquired over the last few years of hardship melted away and she became more like the girl she had been before misfortune overtook her. It was easier to laugh now, and she did it often--and she smiled whenever anybody looked at her. Her sense of humor--long dormant and rather wry--started to shine through and she joined Ella in her mischief-making.

As for Wade, he was enchanted by this change in Marybeth. He had fallen in love with her in her more serious guise, but he still had the shy boy's attraction to sparkling girls. And Marybeth certainly sparkled these days. However, Wade was changing too. She made no secret of her deep affection for him and he became more self-confident as he warmed himself with her approval. Of course, a more experienced coquette would have had Wade dancing at the end of a string, but Marybeth, in her straightforward way, had no wish to torment the man she loved.

Their courtship became an established fixture among the young set in Atlanta. He squired her around (to use a phrase from a previous generation) and they were a familiar sight together at dances and sociables, her arm linked companionably through his. They could, and did, dance with other partners--it was expected of them--but they always sought each other out afterwards. When they danced together they were utterly attuned to each other. In public he treated her with tender courtesy which she reciprocated with her prettiest smiles. And whenever they had a private moment alone, she was in his arms...

Beau Wilkes knew all about Wade's courtship--both Wade and Ella had mentioned it in their letters to him. But reading it in a letter was different than living the reality. Although he never really thought about it deeply, he and his two cousins had had a very cozy friendship among themselves. Beau accepted it as a thing that should be that his best friends in the world were the children of the Butler family and somehow he never thought that anybody would come along and disturb their trio. So it was with a bit of dismay that he came home from University to find Marybeth Dandridge had been brought into their little circle.

It wasn't that he objected to Marybeth personally. But his close relationship with his cousins had been built on their ties of blood and step-kinship and cemented by their shared grief after the death of his mother. Beau never thought he would see the day when it _wasn't_ just the three of them.

But it was an ill wind which blew no good--he had the opportunity one afternoon to trail ride alone with Ella shortly after his return home. He didn't know (because Ella didn't tell him) that Aunt Scarlett had given permission to Ella for this jaunt despite her misgivings.

"Why don't you plan a picnic before it gets too hot and sticky, Ella?" He asked.

Ella nodded thoughtfully. It was always her job to provide the food when they picnicked. And it was always the job of Wade or Beau to carry it in their saddlebags. "Yes. That's a good idea. And maybe Marybeth will be able to ride along with us. Wade's teaching her how, you know."

Beau nodded, but didn't answer. He was happy for Wade, but he couldn't help feeling that the end of an era was coming with the arrival of Marybeth Dandridge.

As a matter of fact, the riding lesson was going on just at that same time. She had a new riding habit from a pattern she borrowed from Ella. Wade asked his mother's permission to use her old saddle horse, Dakota.

Marybeth tried to thank Scarlett for the loan of the horse, but the older woman dismissed her with a wave and a laugh.

"Fiddle-dee-dee! I don't have the time to ride. Or the inclination."

So there they were in the back paddock of the mansion. Wade explained the finer points of the saddle to her and showed her how to strap it securely onto the horse. Then he lifted her carefully onto Dakota. "You keep your shoulders and hips square with the horse's shoulders and hips," he explained. "Your right leg is positioned here..." he stopped to show her, moving her into place. "...With your weight behind the knee. You hold the reins like this..." Again he stopped to move her fingers into the correct position. Then he stepped back to assess the final product.

Marybeth felt exhilarated. It had been years since she had been on a horse and she had utterly forgotten how it felt--to be up so high, riding along on a powerful animal at breakneck speeds. Of course, Dakota was only standing there. But the anticipation went to Marybeth's head like a tonic. Her heart sped up slightly and she was a little flushed. She was itching to start _moving_.

"Are you nervous?" Wade asked. She radiated tension, but he misinterpreted its cause.

Marybeth snorted derisively. "Of course not. Lets start this lesson."

Wade stepped back and told her to start. "Keep it at a walk."

She pressed her leg against the horse's flank and Dakota started moving at a sedate pace. After they made one complete circle around the ring, Wade called out, "Trot!"

Marybeth adjusted the reins and pressed Dakota again. The horse shifted into a trot, and this time she had to concentrate as she accustomed herself to the unfamiliar saddle and posture.

But unknown to either of them, they were being watched by another pair of eyes.

Completely unnoticed, Atlas had come loping through the yard, but he stopped, curious, when he saw the spectacle of a riding lesson in the back paddock. He recognized Marybeth, of course. He knew her by sight and was familiar with her scent--not only did it come from her personally, he could also smell it on Wade's clothes sometimes when he came home late at night. But he had never seen anybody ride the horses in the paddock except for Wade and Ella. The novelty of the strange woman on the back of one of their horses kept him watching avidly, as he sat and panted by the bushes.

They made the circuit a couple times and Wade was satisfied enough to call out, "Are you ready to canter?"

"Yes!" Marybeth called back. But she had overestimated how balanced she was. As soon as Dakota moved into the canter, Marybeth started to lose her seat and she struggled to regain it. At the same time, the sight of the cantering horse with the strange woman on it was too much for Atlas. His instinct to chase overwhelmed the training he had received at the hands of his beloved Scarlett and he was off like a shot after Dakota. The gentle mare was unused to being rushed and she shied away--causing Marybeth to tumble off onto her back, getting the wind knocked out of her.

In an instant, Wade was crouching by her side. "Just stay still," he said breathlessly. He ran his hands over her shoulders and hips quickly, feeling for any obvious break or dislocation.

Marybeth was appalled at the look in Wade's face--his was a look of stark fear as he checked her.

"Oh, Wade. Don't fuss," she implored as she pushed his hands away.

"I'm making sure you're not hurt."

"Hurt?" She laughed. "Just from that little bitty fall? Land sakes, you're carrying on as if I'd broken my neck." She rolled over and sat up. Her hat was askew, but the many pins Mrs. Meade had stuck in it before she left the house prevented it from falling off her head.

Atlas sensed he had been a very bad doggie. He sidled up to Marybeth and Wade, tail between his legs and whining abjectly. She held her hand out to him and he licked it as a gesture of contrition..

Wade frowned at Atlas and looked as if he were going to say something, but checked himself. Instead, he sat back on his heels and said, "If you don't want to continue this lesson, I'll understand."

"Why Wade Hampton Hamilton. Don't be silly. Of course I want to continue. After all, I've just learned one of the ways _not_ to sit on a horse."

oOoOoOo

Wade found Marybeth to be an apt pupil. She was eager to learn everything he tried to teach her, and was willing to practice over and over until she got the technique right. But just the same, riding became a source of contention between them, and they started having silly little quarrels.

"Raise the bar, Wade. Won't you please?"

"No." His voice was quiet, his tone implacable.

"But two feet is so _tame_. Just raise it six inches, that's all. Just six inches more."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh please, for me..."

"Marybeth, I don't believe you're ready."

"I _am_. Let me show you what I can do."

"Two feet is high enough."

"_Two feet is high enough_," Marybeth mimicked him.

"Very funny, but the answer is no."

Marybeth stuck her tongue out at him. "Fine. I'll do it your way. The _boring_ way." And she yawned elaborately to show just how bored she was. But Wade would not be moved.

After she was mounted, he pressed her foot in its boot. "You worry me, Marybeth. You take the corners too close and too fast. There's nothing wrong with a more easygoing pace, you know."

"Dakota _wants_ to go fast. I can tell--just feel how tense her muscles are. She's bored going slowly, too. So I let her do what she wants, and we're both happy. But not you."

"I also want you to have a more secure seat."

"Are you referring to those couple of times I got thrown? What's the big deal? I don't bawl about it and I always get right back on the horse."

Wade sighed and Marybeth reached down for his hand. "Don't worry, Wade. I have you to teach me, don't I? And look how much I've learned. From you."

Wade shook his head, amused but not fooled by her flattery. "The answer is still no. Show me what you can do with a two-foot bar." And he stepped back to let her go, ignoring the petulant toss of her head.

He watched her make the circle with a vague feeling of regret that he had ever offered to teach her how to ride. He was proud of her progress, to be sure, but riding brought out a side of Marybeth he hadn't imagined was there. It was as if there were two Marybeths--one was the ladylike girl he courted--the other was this fearless creature who wanted to jump higher and canter faster than anybody else around...

"Marybeth, slow down! You're not a cowboy!"

oOoOoOo

It was a hot, sticky day after all when Wade and Marybeth, Beau and Ella were able to go on a picnic together. They rode out to the Creek by way of the trails and found a shady clump of trees to spread out the blanket.

After they ate, Marybeth rested her back against one of the trees. Wade stretched out on the blanket and laid his head in her lap and played idly with the end of her long braid. Whenever she rode, Marybeth liked to wear her hair braided because it was smooth and comfortable under the riding hat--not like the fashionable curls and pins and bumps of current fashion. Restless Ella had her heart set on picking daisies and Beau went with her to help, so they were relatively alone.

The heat made Marybeth drowsy and she closed her eyes, one hand on Wade's chest, the other hand languidly swinging a fan as he told her about his day at work.

"...so the company notified us that the new typewriter will arrive this coming Tuesday."

Marybeth smiled and brushed away a fly that whined by her ear, but didn't open her eyes. "And high time, too. You've been waiting for it for how long?"

"Well, let's see. Jeb Clarke first suggested it back in March. He said it would help him with his secretarial duties--and I think he's right. Then we had to convince Mr. Stewart and Mr. Morris. That wasn't easy, let me tell you. They're both set in their ways--you know how old people are..."

"Yes I do," said Marybeth, thinking about the Meades with amusement.

"I explained how important it is to keep up with the new firms that are opening. They all type their documents. And they look good. No more trying to read sloppy, cramped handwriting. But in all humility, I think what turned them around was Clarke's offering to stay late every night until he learned how to use it."

"Is it really that hard to learn?"

"No, I shouldn't say so--not exactly. We went down to the telegraph office to see the one they had there. The hardest part will be for him to memorize where the keys are--each letter has a key, and punctuation marks, too, and numbers. But you're not supposed to look at the keys when you type."

"Then how--?"

"The typist has to memorize--to go by feel."

"That sounds hard to me."

Wade shrugged. "Well...you have to memorize the keys when you're learning piano, right? You're not supposed to look at piano keys, either. By the way, how are your lessons going?"

Marybeth opened her eyes and gave a wry smile. "Poor Mrs. Meade. She's been very patient with me, to her credit. I never thought it would be that hard. My left hand doesn't know what my right hand is doing. And then I get all mixed up. But I can play _O Tannenbaum_. At least Mrs. Meade turns her head away when she makes a face."

"You're really very fond of her, aren't you, Marybeth?"

"I am. She's good to me. But then," she added practically, "I take care of her, too."

"I was always afraid of her when I was little. We children all were. She always looked so stern and forbidding. Aunt Melly said it was because she'd had two little boys and lost them in the War. So then I felt sorry for her. But still afraid of her. Honest to say, I felt rather sorry for you before I met you, living with those two old people."

"That _is_ funny. They're like family to me now. But on the other hand, I didn't meet them when I was a little child. Maybe that makes a difference. Plus, she told me all about Phil and Darcy. Do you know, the doctor never mentions them? But I've seen him looking at their pictures when he didn't know I was there..." Marybeth frowned and bit her lip, thinking. Then they were quiet again.

After some time had passed, Wade sat up and Marybeth took the opportunity to draw her knees up. Her legs had stiffened under the weight of him. He stood up and stretched. "How would you like to go wading in the stream? And we can check the horses at the same time."

She held up her hand and he pulled her to her feet.

At the edge of the stream there was an old tree stump. She sat down on it and started pulling off boots and stockings. He was done before her and went to pick up her boots. "We better put them under that bush to stay safe..." He picked up her boots and something shiny fell out of one of them.

"That's just mine," she said as she snatched it from the ground and folded it in her skirt.

"Marybeth, what did you have in there?"

"It's not important."

"Why can't you show me?"

She sighed and looked at him. "Fine. You can see." And she unfolded her skirt. With some surprise, he picked up the little knife she'd been carrying on her for the last few months.

"Where did you get this?" He asked in some amazement.

She shrugged. "Always had it," she murmured.

"But why?"

He hunkered down in front of her. She looked at her hands clenched in her lap. "Dante Martin," she whispered as her cheeks flamed.

Wade was rendered speechless. Did she really think she'd be able to defend herself with that little knife if she were attacked again? How ridiculous! But he looked at how rigidly she sat there, struggling for composure. She was reliving the fear and humiliation of that night. Instinctively, he reached out to give her the comfort she needed.

Pulling her close, he stroked her back and whispered, " You don't have to be afraid of Dante anymore. He's gone and can't touch you." He felt her arms go around his neck and she buried her face in his chest. Again he felt the desire to shield her from the dangerous world. "Besides, I won't let anybody hurt you. Or anything. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

Marybeth shuddered a bit, even as she surrendered to the feel of Wade's arms around her. She believed that he meant every word that he said. But he didn't know. There were things no man could know--what it was like to have your very body invaded against your will. Or about how sometimes Life did things to you that you couldn't prepare for or defend yourself against. Furthermore, he couldn't be with her all hours of the day just to guard her. But it was enough for her that he wanted to. She slid up against him and pressed her forehead against his throat, letting him rock and comfort her.

"Don't carry it anymore, please." He pulled back from her to peer into her face. She nodded. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying. He had never seen her cry, even that night he'd pulled Dante off her. Part of him thought that was rather odd, but he was too caught up in the feeling of holding her close to worry over it.

Marybeth bit her lip. She liked feeling that she had a weapon--just in case. But perhaps he had a point. Reluctantly she nodded. He pulled her to him again and murmured endearments into her hair.

"Didn't we come here to go wading?" Marybeth said, wanting to distract him. She needed to lighten the mood.

He gave her a squeeze and let her up and they stepped into the creek. The water was cold and very refreshing. Marybeth had hiked her heavy skirts over one arm and she envied Wade. All he had to do was roll up his trousers. Also, she felt the need to relieve her overwrought feelings.

"Wade!" She called. He was a few steps ahead of her, feeling the bottom of the creek with his toes.

"What is it?"

"Looky here."

He turned around and got a faceful of water. When he rubbed his eyes, he saw Marybeth taunting him with a big wide grin.

"Why you--" he sputtered and in one bound, ignoring the sharp stones, he grabbed her and picked her up, holding her like a child.

"Put me down! Put me down!" Marybeth gasped, laughing.

He was laughing too. "If you insist."

"No!" She shrieked. "Not in the middle of the creek! Put me on the bank this instant."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"Because I can't get this habit wet. Because Mrs. Meade would scold me if I did. Because I'll tell everybody how you dumped me in the water and they'll all say you're a varmint."

"I don't care."

She tightened her hold around his neck and whispered in his ear, "Because I love you. And because you're a gentleman."

Wade gasped and crushed her to him. It was the first time she'd told him she loved him. Even if she'd told him in a joking, playful moment, he knew it was true. He knew her feelings before this, but there was something different about hearing it in words...

--He set her down gently at the edge of the creek.

As they were putting on their boots, Wade asked her again not to carry the knife. She nodded and held it out to him. He felt a little stunned at this gesture. He knew it meant she was putting her trust in him. But he refused it.

"Keep it, Marybeth. Just don't carry it anymore."

But the topic of Marybeth's safety let Wade to another topic in his mind--the man who used to be her protector. They were sitting on the picnic blanket hand in hand, and he noticed both her hands were bare and unadorned. He seemed to remember she used to wear a ring, but she must have stopped some time ago. He kissed her hand, then stroked the length of her braid. "What was _he_ like?" He asked softly.

"Who?" Marybeth replied, a little confused. Surely he didn't mean to bring up Dante again!

"Your...your late...your _Mr._ Dandridge..."

Marybeth stiffened, felt the color drain from her face and looked down quickly. _You knew he would ask you sooner or later. You know what you have to do. You know you have to tell him._

"Marybeth? What's wrong?" He asked, worried by her sudden pallor.

She tried to collect her scattered thoughts, but she couldn't think coherently. She fully believed that Wade deserved to be told the truth, to hear it from her. _Courage. You know it's the right thing to do_. She took a deep breath and dragged her gaze from the ground to look into his face.

His eyes, she noted, were so trusting, so loving. He had no notion of the sordid tale she was about to drop on him. And what would happen when she did tell him? Would he hate her? Draw back in disgust? Or just quietly jilt her?

He deserved to know the truth about her past. It was only right and fair. Not to mention honest. But on the other hand, she realized of a sudden that the happiest time in her whole life had been these last few months that he was courting her. Was she willing to put all that at risk for a mere principle?

And then there were the children. If she told Wade the truth he might keep her secret--but he would surely jilt her. Then there would be the awkward questions and speculations about why he did so. And if he did tell, would the Meades want to keep her anymore? Not that she was too proud to go looking for work again, but she would never find a position like the one she had now. Where could a woman find work with little children to look after? Of course, if worse came to worse, there was always the foundling home, but Marybeth would die before she left Edward and Christina in a place like that. They were _hers_, after all...

All this went through her head in a flash. Principle versus expediency. Scandal vs. respectability. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Joe was gregarious and friendly. Not too hard a worker, but we got by as well as we could." Then she looked down again, thoroughly appalled at herself at how easily the lie sprung from her lips.

Wade, although he saw her obvious distress, misunderstood the reason for it, so he blamed himself.

"It pains you to talk about it, doesn't it?"

The concern and caring in his voice pierced her. "Wade..."

"It was clumsy of me to push you."

"It's not that...don't think it..." Marybeth felt she couldn't contain her tension anymore. Like it or not, consequences or not, she had to tell him the truth. Would tell him. Right now. She looked back up at him and said, "Listen, it's..."

"Yoo-hoo! Just look at all the daisies we found!" Ella came bounding into the clearing with an armload of the yellow and white flowers, Beau following closely behind.

Wade was relieved at the appearance of his sister and his cousin. He felt awful about upsetting Marybeth and hoped that she would forget it now that they were no longer alone. he wouldn't bring up the subject again. But Marybeth felt like a door had shut, and now she was stuck with the lie she had told. And deep inside she doubted if she would have the fortitude to try to open it again...

Ella sat down heavily on the blanket next to Marybeth. "Did you ever make daisy chains?"

Marybeth managed a little smile. "Of course..."

"Then here," And Ella tossed some flowers onto Marybeth's lap. "I bet I can make a longer chain than you." Impulsively she hugged the other girl. "And don't look so serious! We're here to have fun. You can be serious later."

Marybeth felt a warm glow at Ella's affection. She certainly was lucky to have a friend like Ella. But even best friends had to be put in their place sometimes. "Surely you're not implying that you can make a better chain than I." And she started plaiting stems.

A/N: Hope everybody enjoyed the Holidays and has a Happy New Year! Oh, and BTW, thanks for all the reviews!!!


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

The Thespians had planned a fundraiser for the summer, done in the overblown theatrical style one would expect of such a group. Their scheme was a costume party, where all the guests would be expected to dress as characters from the theater.

Scarlett could barely contain her scorn. "Why," she asked, "Would you be dressing up as actors and actresses?"

"Because it's for the Thespian's fundraiser, Mother," Ella replied in a bored voice. They'd already discussed this several times before. Mother could really be muleheaded sometimes! But at least she was helping Ella with her costume.

"But don't you think the theme should be patriotic? It is an Independence Day affair, after all. You should be dressing as Martha Washington...or Columbia...or that statue--the one that France is supposed to be sending here--you know, the big copper statue we saw in the newspaper."

"How should I know, Mother? I'm not in the Thespians. Maybe you should write them a letter and complain."

Scarlett looked up from the hem she was stitching. "Don't be impertinent, Miss. Back in the War we used to put up Tableaux for fundraising. Why at the Elsing's musicale, I was draped in Grecian white robes and handed the Hamilton sword to Captain Ashburn...he died in the War..." Scarlett grew pensive over the remembrance before she perked up again. "And I was quite fetching, if I may say so myself."

"I'm sure you were Mother," Ella laughed. Then she sighed. "I know my father must have been a good man, but I wish I had inherited your looks."

And once more, Scarlett was startled at Ella's unselfish admiration of other people. Scarlett herself hated to admit that anybody else was prettier or more charming than she, even at her age. Ella was the wiser one, for sure. But in her embarrassment, Scarlett felt she needed to inculcate a moral lesson. "Pretty is as pretty does." How easily those old platitudes of Ellen's came to her, the older she grew!

Ella grinned. "But I still don't understand what Greek robes have to do with patriotism."

Scarlett was saved from having to explain by the entrance of Virgie Simmons and Marybeth Dandridge. They came up that night to help Ella with the stitching.

"You--" Scarlett said, pointing to Marybeth. "What are you dressing as?"

"The gypsy Mercedes from 'Carmen'."

Scarlett nodded. "Why don't you go as Carmen from 'Carmen'?"

But before Marybeth could answer, Virgie and Ella started giggling.

"You see Mother," Ella giggled again. "Mrs. Meade thought Carmen was too scandalous a role. But she didn't mind Marybeth going as Carmen's _friend_." She dissolved into a full-blown fit of laughter.

Marybeth shook her head reprovingly at Ella, but grinned just the same. As she took a chair to start sewing, she was still smiling as she locked eyes with Scarlett for a moment before she reached for a needle and thread.

Scarlett studied Marybeth as she continued sewing. By all accounts, Marybeth was very fond of and devoted to the Meades. But apparently, she wasn't above trying to get around the old lady when there was something she wanted. Scarlett rather liked that. She'd spent her own girlhood trying to avoid the notice of the old cats, although unsuccessfully. Maybe Marybeth was a more sympathetic person than she'd imagined.

"This Titania costume is beautiful, Ella. Silver-gray is just about the right color for you," Virgie said as she held up a length of the fabric. "See how nicely it sets off her hair, Mrs. Butler?"

"I've been providing Ella's clothes for many years now, Virgie. I just may have figured out how to do it by now." Scarlett's demeanor towards Ella's friends could be a bit withering, but they didn't care. The younger girls didn't share their mothers' prejudice against Scarlett. To them, Scarlett was just another mother who needed to be placated.

oOoOoOo

In the evening of the fundraiser, Marybeth carried her costume in a box and met Ella at the Mansion. They planned to dress there then Pork would drive them to the Hall.

For this occasion, Ella wore her hair flowing. Marybeth helped her brush it out, then she put the silverplated fillet on her head--that would be the fairy queen's crown.

"Too bad you can't wear your hair like this all the time, Ella," she said after she put her wreath in her own hair and they looked at their reflections in the mirror. "I really think it's your best feature."

Ella agreed with Marybeth. Brushed out, her ginger hair revealed its waves and the gaslights made some of the strands appear golden. "But unfortunately," Ella sighed, "flowing hair isn't _fashionable_."

"Then we'll play make-believe tonight and have fun and don't worry about fashion."

They finished dressing and Pork left them at the Hall in due time. The gentlemen had all arrived earlier in the day, "To make sure everything is in order before you ladies get here," was Beau Wilkes' solemn explanation last week. Before he started to laugh.

Ella saw Marybeth peering around, looking for Wade.

"Let's go to the ring now," said Ella, taking her by the arm. "Hopefully we'll be able to catch Beau and Wade before they're too thoroughly intoxicated."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ella never paused her steps. "Remember how Beau said they had to make sure everything was in order? The only thing they make sure of is the quality of the beer and whiskey. And naturally, one taste is not enough. The ring is where the refreshments are served to the gentlemen. And they all try to outdo each other. They need to prove their manhood by how well they can hold their liquor."

"Ohh..."

Ella stopped. "You don't mind it, do you? You don't belong to WCTU?"

"Me? No, I'm not a Temperance advocate. I don't think there's anything wrong with drinking a little bit."

"I must warn you--it's more than a little bit. But nobody get ugly, either."

As the girls headed up the hill, they could hear the sounds of raucous laughter from the other side.

"We might be too late," Ella said, exasperated. "Come on."

Beyond the crest of the little hill the girls saw a large, fenced-in ring, like the back paddock at the Butler mansion. In the pasture around the fencing all the horses were grazing. All except Wade's horse, Coal. Joe Whiting had him in the ring and was attempting, unsuccessfully, to mount him. Every time Joe would try to swing his right leg over Coal's back, the skittish young stallion would throw him off and trot away.

Outside the fence, Wade and Beau were holding each other up, laughing hard at the spectacle. There were various onlookers, cheering and booing. Raoul Picard was swearing (at least the girls thought it was swearing) colorfully in French. Beau saw the girls approaching first, nudged Wade, and the two men straightened up and started walking towards them.

But Raoul beat them both. He bowed, low and clumsy, in front of Ella and Marybeth. Then he took Ella by the hand and kissed her cheek in what he must have thought was a very courtly fashion.

"You are a vision in silver, Miss Kennedy. I see Frankie Bonn ell on the other side of the fence there waiting for you. Or is it Albert you're seeking?" He asked Ella wickedly. Ella laughed and rapped him playfully with her fan. Raoul was silly, but harmless.

Then Raoul kissed Marybeth's hand rather sloppily. She was still unused to being touched so casually, and lowered her eyes with a sweep of her lashes that he found charming. "If you're not careful, Wade, I'll take her from you," he said with a wink at Marybeth, who only shook her head in exasperation.

"Le's just see you try it," Wade retorted good-naturedly. When Raoul was in his cups he fancied himself irresistible to ladies.

"Ah, you just wait and see. The night is still young."

Ella broke in. "What's going on here, Wade? Why is Joe trying to ride your horse?"

"I jus' happened to mention..." Wade began.

"Joe boas'ed that the horse hadn't been foaled that he couldn't tame..." Beau broke in. Marybeth noticed that they were both slurring a bit.

"...and I said Coal was the e'ception..." Wade took up the story again.

"...So naturally, Joe couldn' let that remark pass unchallenged..." Beau grinned.

"Can't you discuss this later?" Said Frankie Bonnell who had hurried over to join the group as soon as he saw Ella. "We got money riding on this." Then he looked over his shoulder at Albert Whiting, who had hung back when he saw Frankie trying to pre-empt a place near Ella. "At least some of us have money riding on it."

"Riding! You said money _riding _on this--and we're betting on whether Joe can sit Coal. Ha ha. Some joke. He he he."

There were head shakings and eye rollings among the little crowd. Marybeth turned to see who had made the awful pun. Doubling up with laughter over his own joke was a man she'd never seen before.

But Ella leaned to her and whispered. "That's Ernest Grogan. Just ignore him."

Wade drew Marybeth off to the side a little bit and took her hand. "You look lovely this evening. You make the cutes' li'l gypsy, all flowers in your hair, " he chuckled and swayed a bit on his feet. He was trying to keep his well-mannered ways about him, but they were slipping from his grasp.

She raised an eyebrow at him and asked, lips twitching, "When are you coming up to the dance?"

"We'll be up presen'ly." Then he peered into her face. "Are you angry, Marybeth? That we came down here to er--test the refreshmen's?"

Marybeth thought of her father who enjoyed his whiskey but never became gross. And the Doctor enjoyed an occasional "nip". They didn't become ugly when they drank and there was nothing ugly about Wade right now, either.

"_I_ am not a woman to nag you about your _refreshmen's_" and she imitated his slurring.

"You are a treasure," he sighed as he reached out to stroke her hair. But his cuff link caught in Marybeth's hair and when he tried to pull his arm away he wound up half pulling off her wreath.

"What are you trying to do, Hamilton--deflower her?" That was from Ernest Grogan.

A sudden embarrassed silence fell on the group and Marybeth's cheeks flamed as she looked down. Wade's eyes flashed angrily. Ernest, suddenly conscious of his gaffe, mumbled an apology.

Beau stepped into the breach. He took Ella by the elbow and stepped up to Marybeth. He nodded to Wade, then, with a hand on each girl's shoulder, he guided them away from the group.

"You ladies had better go back to the dance. We'll be along shortly. Unfortun'ly, _some_ men don't know how to hold their liquor," and he looked disgustedly over his shoulder.

Marybeth looked at Wade, and he nodded to her. He wanted her to go, too.

Ella and Marybeth made the long trek back to the hall. They were quiet as they walked, but Ella glanced at Marybeth now and again.

Then Ella tried to smooth over the incident. "The first time my brother came home in that condition," she laughed over the memory, "Mother was simply beside herself. She had Pork put him to bed. Uncle Rhett was in town at the time and Mother demanded that he have a talk with Wade. But Uncle Rhett thought it was a harmless prank and told her so. _He's of age, isn't he?_ Uncle Rhett said. _He didn't break the law and he has to learn to hold his liquor. Besides, maybe he needs some release every now and then. So don't coddle_."

Marybeth nodded. She hadn't thought of it like that and maybe Captain Butler had hit on the crux of the matter. She knew just how self-contained Wade was, how he strove for self control. She probably saw him at his most natural, but it seemed reasonable that he'd have to give vent to his wilder impulses every now and again.

Ella continued her tale. "And naturally, all the next day it seemed that every door I shut _would_ slam."

Marybeth laughed outright at that. It was just like her friend to be extra noisy when her brother was nursing a morning-after headache.

Encouraged by her laughter, Ella sidled up to her, slipped her arm through hers and said, "I'm sorry Marybeth. About what Ernest said. I'm afraid he's no gentleman."

Marybeth squeezed Ella's hand in gratitude.

A few moments later, Ella ventured, "What does that mean--deflower?"

Marybeth looked at her with a wry smile. "Leave it to you to ask such an artless question."

"Don't try to get around me, honey. I know you know." Then in frustration, "How else am I going to find out? Nobody tells me anything."

Marybeth looked away, she looked up at the sky, then she looked at the ground. Finally, she took a deep breath and whispered in Ella's ear, "It means _mating_."

They walked on in silence again, but now it was Ella's turn to blush. She knew what mating was--she thought of the dogs and cats at Tara. Not to mention Old Mrs. Tarleton's breeding stallion. But she never applied that knowledge to people...with good reason! Besides, that couldn't be right. It just couldn't be--Marybeth had to be mistaken...wasn't she? But no. Marybeth couldn't be wrong about this. Ella thought back to the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the crowd after Ernest's stupid remark. They all knew what he was talking about. All except Ella, of course. And Ernest had said it about her own brother and her best friend!

"I'm so sorry I embarrassed you," Ella said.

"Oh, don't apologize. You didn't know."

"But you did. You knew what they were talking about."

Marybeth shrugged, anxious to change the subject. "Lets talk about you. Who are you giving your first waltz to?"

Ella understood. Marybeth didn't want to discuss it anymore. She squeezed Marybeth's hand in understanding. Marybeth returned the pressure in gratitude.


	37. morning glory 11

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Financially, the fundraiser was a success. The thespians gleefully counted the monies that were brought in and knew they wouldn't have to host another shindig like this for at least two years. The guests admired each others costumes, the band played all the latest songs, and the food was plentiful and delicious.

Ella, annoyed with Frankie's and Albert's maneuverings, wound up giving her first waltz to Cousin Beau. What Beau thought of this, no one could tell, because he kept his expression carefully aloof. But except for the courtesy dances she gave to her lifelong friends, she divided her dances between her suitors...

The two suitors had their own reactions to Ella's behavior.

Frankie Bonnell, touchy and unused to having to share his attentions with anybody else, strove to prove to Ella that he didn't care if she paid attention to another man. He danced every dance, Ella or no Ella, and when he wasn't guiding her around the floor, he led the other girls out to dance. That night he danced with Jenny and Virgie, Marybeth and Elsie, and not even the plainest little wallflower could say she hadn't had a chance to dance with Frankie Bonnell that night.

Albert Whiting, on the other hand, was not interested in dancing with anybody else. He was not interested in showing up Ella, either. He waited patiently for his turn to dance with her. And when she was dancing with somebody else, he occupied his time in smoking with the other gentlemen present, or matching them drink for drink.

So he was quite inebriated when the blow fell.

Ella had given him a dance, and afterwards she declared that she was quite in need of some fresh air.

She walked out into the garden on his arm, fanning herself and putting on airs and graces quite foreign to her. It must be said that the heat and excitement of the dance, coupled with the tension between Frankie and Albert, had turned her head a bit.

They sat together on one of the stone benches backed by fragrant rosebushes and Ella fanned herself languidly.

"How lovely you look tonight," Albert said gallantly.

Ella giggled her thanks.

Taking her by surprise, he slipped his fingers through her flowing hair. Turning her face to his, he kissed the fillet across her brow, then moved lower to claim her lips.

Ella's heart gave a queer little jump and yet--how odd, that she had wanted this for so long, some sign of how important she was to him. But she had all but forgotten how she'd wanted him to kiss her. And here he was, without any angling at all on her part.

Her pulse sped up, it felt good to be kissed by him. But part of her mind seemed to have detached, analyzing this new sensation. She had grown used to Frankie's kisses--quick and impetuous. But Albert's was different--slower, more leisurely, more...

"Ella!"

She looked up to see Frankie standing there in front of them. He looked furious.

"I came looking for you--in case you've forgotten, you wrote me down for this dance. But you obviously weren't looking to see me."

Stupidly, Ella opened her little dance card to see if he was right. Albert, however, stood up.

"There's no need to make a scene, Frankie," he said smoothly.

"That's easy for you to say, Albert," Frankie retorted. "Of course, you're an old hand at luring unsuspecting girls, aren't you?"

Albert raised a hand in a placating gesture.

Frankie turned to Ella. "He has he told you about his freshman year at University, about his debts...?"

Ella stood up, irritated by the scene Frankie was making. "Of course he has, but..."

Frankie seemed quite beside himself now as he turned to Albert. "Of course, you're an honorable gentleman. You would never tell her all the details--because she's a lady. But I know what you fought about in that gambling house. Or rather, who you fought about."

Ella broke in. "I'm sure you're wrong Frankie. You're upset and I'm sorry."

Frankie laughed and ugly laugh. "You're such a little innocent, Ella. You believe any blackguard who tells you a believable story."

Albert grabbed Frankie's arm. "You know nothing. You can't prove anything."

Frankie wrenched his arm away. "I have friends who go to U of Maryland...I heard the whole story. How you couldn't pay your gambling debts because you were supporting a mistress."

Ella shrank back, horrified.

Albert looked at Frankie, utterly speechless. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Frankie alone with Ella.

"Do you see what happens when you lead men on?" He flung at her before he too, turned the other way and stormed off, leaving Ella utterly alone.

She sank back onto the park bench, too stunned, too mortified to react. She could understand Albert's story about the gambling debts--young men must sow their wild oats, they said. But this tale of Frankie's was ugly.

She put her head forward and brought her handkerchief to her eyes. That's all it took. In less than ten minutes, Ella Lorena Kennedy went from a girl with two beaux fighting over her to a girl with none at all. She sighed--maybe it was all for the best. She couldn't dangle them both forever. After all, she was no Elsie Wellburn with her charms and tricks. Was she sad? She was too shocked to feel much of anything at all. What was she going to do now? She couldn't collect her scattered thoughts. And she so wanted to _think_.

But she jumped when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. Peering over the top of her handkerchief, she saw Jenny Whiting. Of course! Jenny was Albert's cousin. She'd come to yell at Ella, no doubt. Well, Ella would get her say in first. But when she looked more closely, there was no condemnation in Jenny's eyes.

"Have you come to say that you told me so?" Ella mumbled.

"No. I've come to say I'm sorry." And Jenny sat down next to Ella.

"You? What have you to be sorry for? Albert is furious with me. He walked right out of this garden. I should apologize to him--I guess." She had momentarily forgotten Frankie's accusation. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. How did you know where I was?"

"I talked to Albert."

"So is he still here?"

"No. He's gone home."

They sat in silence for a little bit.

"Ella, I want to apologize for the way I acted last winter..."

"Oh Jenny, please don't. I should never have held a grudge. Especially against you--my oldest girlfriend."

"Please let me finish. In fact, I wanted to bury the hatchet right after it happened--the very next day, even. But I guess I was ashamed."

"You--?"

"I was just so jealous..."

"Of me?"

"Of course of you. You had two beaux and I had none. I was lonely and jealous. There. That's the bald, awful truth."

"Jenny, are you joking? With that blond hair and those baby blue eyes? If you don't have a beau right now it's because you haven't found somebody you really care about."

Jenny folded her hands in her lap. There was somebody she really cared about and it was Beau Wilkes. She'd admired him from afar for as long as she could remember. But she had never told anybody, even Ella. And he was so maddeningly aloof! "You're a better friend than I deserve," she said.

Ella slipped her hand into Jenny's. It was like a balm to her spirit that Jenny had made this gesture. And Ella never could bear strife and discord for very long--she loved people and wanted them to love her.

oOoOoOo

Beau Wilkes watched from behind one of the bushes as Jenny Whiting sat next to Ella and the two girls reconciled. Then he swore under his breath and turned to walk away.

He had been achingly aware when Ella left the ballroom with Albert. Then he had been startled to see Albert return a short time later, exchange a few vehement words with Jenny and Joe, then leave abruptly. Not long afterwards Frankie Bonnell left, also.

Beau had gone in search of his cousin—although what he planned to do, even he didn't know. But he was certain Ella would need somebody right then. Somebody who cared. He would come to her rescue. He would…

Then he had to stop short when he saw Jenny beat him to it. Why, under the stars, did she have to choose now to make up with Ella? Tomorrow would have been just as good. But at least she wasn't another man. Beau took whatever comfort he could from that thought…

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile, Marybeth had troubles of her own. After Wade, Beau and the other gentlemen had finished sampling the refreshments they joined the ladies in the hall. Wade sought her out immediately, waltzed her around the floor, and brought her punch. But he seemed distant, like he was holding her at arms' length. Once when they were dancing, she swayed provacatively against him, but he took a nimble step back and away from her.

Marybeth was hurt by this. Was he angry with her? Why should he be?

After suffering through nearly half the dances in this manner, she demanded he take her out for air. And when they were alone by the banister of the veranda, she confronted him.

"Are you angry with me?" Marybeth asked Wade.

"Of course not," he answered, a little confused. He had switched to drinking water after he'd seen her at the ring earlier, but he was still a bit tipsy.

"Then why have you barely talked to me all? And now that we're alone, you've barely touched me?" She was hurt and indignant.

Wade gave a short laugh and kissed her on the top of the head. "Did you think it was because I was angry with you? I could never be angry with you."

"Then why--?"

"You really don't know?" He smiled wryly and took her hands in his, kissing one and then the other. "Oh, Marybeth, I don't think you know just how--well, how tempting you are right at this moment. And...then...there's something I'd like to ask you. Not tonight, not with me in this condition. But I'm going to ask you--before too many more months go by--and I want everything to be decent and right between us..." He slid his hands up her bare arms and murmured in her ear. "It's taking every bit of self-control for me not to..." he sighed. "Never mind. I've said too much. But rest assured, whatever I feel right now towards you, it's not _anger_."

Marybeth looked at him, all her loving heart showing in her face. This was the first time Wade had mentioned their future together. She was too afraid to speak, afraid the spell would be broken...

"And don't look at me like _that_, Marybeth--you only make it more difficult. Come on," he offered her his arm and grinned. "Let's go back to the dance. And I promise to talk to you to your heart's content—or until you tell me to shut up."


	38. morning glory 12

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

A/N: Took me a while to get the wording right in this one—and I hope I did! Please review and let me know what you think!

Ella was particularly quiet on the drive home from the Fundraiser. In a few short, whispered sentences, she had told Marybeth what happened in the garden. And if Wade was surprised that she wasn't being driven home by either Frankie or Albert, he kept it to himself.

And so the three of them drove home silently, and Ella kept her hand in Marybeth's clasped tight for comfort.

Back at the mansion, Ella waved a desultory, silent goodnight to her brother and tiptoed in to Scarlett's room to kiss her and let her know she was home safely.

"Did you have a nice time at the party, dear?" Scarlett asked.

Ella shrugged, nodded. Scarlett wasn't convinced, but it was never her way to pry into the private feelings of her children.

Back in her own room, she allowed Prissy to help her with the long row of buttons on the back of her dress, then dismissed her--Ella could dress herself for bed and brush and braid her own hair. And she wanted to be alone.

Finally, she was in bed, the thin sheet drawn up to her waist. It was just too hot tonight for the blanket, and all her windows were left open to catch the summer night breezes. Some people might hold that night air was dangerous, but Scarlett didn't believe in such nonsense and she insisted on opening the windows whenever it was warm enough.

She folded her arms in front of her and stared at the moon, visible through one of the windows. What a day--what a night! So much to think about, she wasn't even sure where to start.

Ella was on par with the average girl of her age and social class in regards to knowledge about life. Mothers were fearful for their daughters' reputations and with good reason. A girl's whole future--both her social and economic standing--depended on her husband. And the better her reputation, the more marriageable she was. Therefore, it was in the girl's best interest to remain pure. In an attempt to keep their daughters innocent, mothers kept their girls largely ignorant about the intimate side of male/female relations. Of course, no system is perfect, and bits and pieces of information leaked through, anyway. Ella, through her own observation, and comparison with the observations of her girlfriends, had learned this thing and another that Scarlett had no idea she knew about. For instance, Ella figured out that babies didn't just grow spontaneously. She figured out that there was some type of touch that made them start--and that only married couples had permission to do. She had also figured out that, forbidden or no, some unmarried people engaged in this activity anyway. Then there were women like Belle Watling who kept a whole house of girls who did it in exchange for money. Of course, any girl who agreed to do those things risked having a baby and ruining her reputation. But before tonight, she had never thought about what it meant from a man's perspective.

Marybeth said the forbidden touch was mating. But Ella found that confusing, even though she believed her. She'd seen animals mating--it didn't look like much fun to her. What would a man have to say to convince a girl to agree to do that? The hope for a baby, perhaps? But a girl who didn't even have a husband wouldn't want to have a baby and be ruined.

Unless...maybe it wasn't quite the same for people as it was for animals. Maybe there was more to it and Marybeth just wasn't telling her. After all, she'd been very embarrassed to talk about it at all...That was a strong possibility.

But Frankie's accusation--was it true? Had Albert really kept a mistress? How did it come about? Had he needed to use much persuasion on her? Why wouldn't he marry her?

Ella was starting to realize just how ignorant she was of the hidden side of men's lives. Did they all keep mistresses? Visit Houses like Belle's? How about Beau, or Wade? Did they do things like that? Of course, if they did, they wouldn't be likely to tell _her_.

She wished there was somebody she could talk to about it. Asking Mother was out of the question--she would just want to know where Ella had heard such unsuitable conversation. If Uncle Rhett were home she would ask him--Uncle Rhett never got embarrassed about anything. She really missed Uncle Rhett...

Mind in a whirl, she dropped into a deep sleep.

oOoOoOo

The next morning, Wade sat in the parlor with a book open on his lap, but he wasn't reading. He was caught up daydreaming about Marybeth, remembering how soft her arms were, the sweet lilac scent she wore, how yielding, as always, when he kissed her. Before the year was out, he was going to propose--and he was confident she would say yes. But he wanted to get some of his personal business in order, first.

He cringed when he heard the parlor door open softly. Of course, he chided himself, if he wanted to be alone, he should have stayed in his room. Or taken Coal for a ride. But now he was cornered. Hopefully it was only Prissy. If he ignored her, she would ignore him.

But the softly tripping tread wasn't Prissy's slow meander--the intruder was Ella. Wade crouched down on the sofa, hoping she wouldn't notice him.

He got his wish--she didn't notice him. But she sat down heavily on one of the chairs, her back to him. He heard a sigh, then a stifled sob. He simply couldn't ignore that.

"Ella?" He called softly.

A little squeal of dismay, and Ella's head popped up over the top of the high backed armchair. "Wade, I didn't know you were here."

"Obviously. What's wrong?"

"Ohhh...I can't explain it to you. You would never understand."

Wade closed his book and sat up straighter. "What do you think I won't understand? That you had a fight with your beaux?"

Ella gasped. "You know! But how?"

"I'm not a complete ignoramus," he said dryly. "And I can't think of anything else that would make you mope like that."

Ella gave a sniff. "It all went so wrong last night. Albert and Frankie both jilted me. Did you ever hear of a girl who got jilted twice in one night? Well, I did. And I just...I just..." she buried her face in her arms and started to cry.

This was a little more than Wade had bargained for. He didn't like to see his sister cry, and he wished he were anywhere but there. Where was Mother, for crying out loud? Ella should be confiding in her.

He stood up and went to Ella. He patted her awkwardly once, twice. "There, there," he said, coughing a little _ahem_. "Don't cry, Ella. Cheer up! There's plenty more fish in the sea, after all."

Ella's head reared back. "Fish! That's the best you can say?"

"Well, I..."

Ella tried to stay mad, but it was no use. Her face crumpled and in one very unladylike leap, she scrambled over the back of the sofa and threw her arms around her brother's neck, sobbing wildly.

There was no help for it, now. Wade had to comfort his sister, no matter how awkward it was. But he felt completely useless. Besides a few clumsy pats and even more clumsy words, there was nothing he could do to fix this, nothing he could do to make her sorrow go away. He felt a dull anger that Albert or Frankie would hurt poor Ella and make her cry.

He waited for her to finish and eventually the worst was over. When she settled down to a few random sniffs, he pulled back and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief to give her. She eyed it dubiously.

"Oh, grow up, Ella. It's clean," he said rather gruffly. Her tears embarrassed him.

She wiped her eyes and gave him one last impulsive squeeze. "You can go back to reading your book. I feel strong enough to bear this, now," she said dramatically.

oOoOoOo

It was a subdued Albert Whiting who called on Ella that afternoon.

"I must apologize for last night--for leaving you like that--for everything."

They were walking in the back garden, carefully keeping their distance from each other. Ella had her hands clasped behind her back as they walked and she cast sidelong glances at him. She was consumed with curiosity about so many things, but felt stymied--she didn't know what to ask, or how...

"I feel like I've been doing nothing but apologizing to you since I came home from University..."

Ella smiled a wan, lopsided smile, but didn't answer.

"However, I'm afraid it's all true, what Frankie said. I did...have a liaison...with a young woman..."

Ella noticed he didn't use the word _lady_.

"She was older than me. Twenty, at least. She frequented our favorite gaming house. She wasn't a--she wasn't like--" he dropped his voice. "One of Belle's girls. She simply was there--as a customer. And it wasn't as if I were her first..." At this he reddened and looked away, conscious he'd said too much.

Ella could feel the blood flushing and fading in her face. She'd never been exposed to so frank a conversation before--how disapproving Mother would be if she knew!--and she felt a strange mixture of shock and curiosity, uneasiness and confusion. Her first? Her first _what_? Why was there nobody to explain things to her? But onward they walked, up and down the rows of Mother's azaleas.

"She said she had debts, bills she couldn't pay. I felt pity for her and I tried to give her money, but it never seemed to be enough. And then it was that one of my boon companions grew jealous over her. She was quite beautiful..."

Ella's gut clenched and a wave of heat ran through her. How could he praise another girl to her face? A vague sense of insecurity began creeping over her.

"What was her name?" Ella asked. Her voice was shaking.

"Camilla."

It figured she'd have a fancy name. Nothing plain and boring like _Ella_.

She tried to picture the unknown, but beautiful, Camilla, but quickly shrank from it. Was she a fair, icy blond? A sultry raven-hair? She stopped by the iron stag and looked away from Albert. She was under no illusions about herself. She was no beauty, never would be. The most people could say about her was that she was cute, and she knew it was more the force of her personality and her quick smile that made people say that rather than any physical gifts. Her stomach felt sour. For the first time in her life, Ella was jealous of another girl.

"Did you love her?"

A pause. "I thought I did."

The knife twisted. Ella's hands shook and she clasped them together to still their shaking.

"Ella, I would never have told a story like that to a girl like you. You're so good, so sweet, so sheltered from the world. That's why I ran last night. I was ashamed. I wish the whole episode with her had never happened. But when I had time to think it over, I decided to make a clean breast of it. I think you're the kind of girl who would understand and forgive."

_But you didn't make a clean breast of it. Frankie did_. Came the treacherous thought. Quickly she squashed it. He had just given her a complement, sort of. He called her understanding. Somehow, she didn't want to lose ground in his estimation.. Whatever else happened, she could not be less than the ghostly Camilla. She wouldn't be able to compete with her in outer beauty, but she could match her for inner beauty. Match her? No. Ella would surpass her.

"I've begged your indulgence so many times already this summer, Ella. I don't blame you if you show me to the door."

The image of the beautiful, sophisticated Camilla rose up before her. Ella had to be the better person. Had to! And besides, she still cared for Albert. She put her hand in his. "Don't leave. I still wish to see you."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her vehemently.


	39. morning glory 13

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

To Mrs. Meade's delight, and after too long of a search, in her estimation, the Doctor hired a partner. To her dismay, he was a Northerner.

"Why, Doctor? Of all the fine Southern men you could have had."

"What Southern men are you referring to, wife? You know how long I looked. All the fine Southern doctors either work alone or already have a partner. And whoever heard of more than two doctors in a practice? That's simply absurd. Besides, he's not a Northerner. He's a Canadian."

"Oh..." That information didn't raise this unknown doctor in her estimation. She remembered all too well how Canada helped the escaped slaves during the prewar days--gave them refuge and protection--the implied criticism of the South in these actions was too pointed to ignore. Mrs. Meade had mellowed over the years--slowly and almost imperceptibly, she had come to decide that perhaps slavery was wrong after all. But Canada's moral superiority still rankled.

However, the proprieties must be maintained and she decided to invite Dr. Andrew Grant--for that was his name--for supper to welcome him to Atlanta and her husband's medical practice.

That supper proved to be a lively one.

"Did you hear, Dr. Meade, that they administered a rabies vaccination to a little boy in France who was mauled by a rabid dog?" Dr. Grant asked in a booming voice as he helped himself to another serving of corn. "And the boy survived."

Dr. Meade glanced at the women. His wife was making a face at the mention of medical procedures at the table. Dandridge was looking down at her chicken and gravy with a little surreptitious smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes, Dr. Grant. I read it in my medical journal. But I'm afraid we may bore the ladies with talk about work."

Dr. Grant inclined his head towards Mrs. Meade first, then Marybeth. "Ladies, I apologize. I'm afraid I get a little too enthusiastic about my practice and forget who I'm with."

"It's quite all right," answered Mrs. Meade coolly.

"However, I must beg your indulgence for another topic I've been discussing with Dr. Meade," Dr. Grant continued. "The matter of installing a telephone."

"I'm not sure what that has to do with us," replied Mrs. Meade, irritated at the continued work talk--but what could one expect from somebody not raised in the gentility of Southern manners? "If my husband wishes to install a telephone in his office, that's his business."

"Well, it depends on how you look at it. He definitely must have one in his office. But he doesn't spend all his time there--you should have one here, too. It's really the only sensible thing to do. All the other doctors have done it, and your younger patients will appreciate being able to contact you as soon as they need you."

"I'm sure you have a good point," Dr. Meade said. "But we've never had a telephone before and my patients have no trouble contacting me."

"Ah, but times are changing, and so are people's attitudes. Nowadays, a frantic young mother with a croupy baby wants to know you're only a telephone call away."

Marybeth studied Dr. Grant from under her lashes as he worked to convince Dr. Meade. His face was unlined, but he was completely gray. His manner was jovial, quick to laugh. He spoke in a voice that carried. She guessed it was because he was used to treating older patients who were hard of hearing.

"Well," Doctor Meade paused. "What do you think, Mrs. Meade?"

Mrs. Meade looked dubious. "It seems so...newfangled. You talk as if we only take care of young people. But our older patients don't mind that we don't have one. And we get by just fine."

Andrew noticed her use of "we" and winked at Marybeth.

"What do you think, Miss Marybeth?" He asked. "Would you like a telephone in the kitchen?"

"It's not my decision to make," she demurred with a little wave of her hand.

"Go right ahead, Marybeth," encouraged Mrs. Meade. "What do you think?"

"Oh, lets see," her brow crinkled as she thought. "A lot of people we know have telephones, of course, but not everybody...The Whitings, don't, for instance, and neither do the Bonnells. But Virgie Simmons' family has one, and the Butler mansion has one," here she blushed a little as Dr. Meade raised his eyebrow at her. "And...oh, I know! the Picards have two--one in the bakery and one at their house. And Mrs. Merriwether has one, also."

"That's right, that's right. And Dolly is forever complaining that when the wretched thing rings she has to pick it up," concluded Mrs. Meade triumphantly to her husband.

"Well, that's true, of course," Marybeth conceded.

"I take it you've never used one before?" Dr. Grant asked Marybeth.

She shook her head.

"Then here's another consideration for you, Dr. Meade--here is this modern young lady who's never spoken on the telephone in her whole life. How will she keep up with her friends?"

"Dr. Grant," Marybeth laughed. "Please don't put me in the middle of this. You'll only serve to get me into trouble."

But Dr. Meade looked thoughtful. "I'll think about it," he declared.

After the main course was finished, Marybeth was deputed to show Dr. Grant around the garden.

"If you don't mind my saying," she said as they walked carefully along the marigold border, "you speak with a Yankee accent."

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Miss Marybeth, we Canadians have an accent that's very similar. However, if you listen closely you can find the differences. But I must ask--do you and Mrs. Meade work this garden? It's like a little Paradise."

"Mrs. Meade is responsible. I'm just the foot soldier--she tells me what to plant and where. But she does have some fine specimens." One bush in particular caught her attention and she hooked her arm through his to take him to see it. "Have you ever seen this plant?"

He shook his head. "I don't believe I have. That's an unusual flower--velvety, but look at the shape of those petals. Thin and curved."

"And that's not all. Every once in a while it releases a scent--there it is!"

"Like wine...and apples."

"That's right! It's called Carolina allspice." She broke off a bloom and handed it to him. He sniffed it and put it in his buttonhole.

"How are you related to the Meades?" He asked.

"I'm not. I work for them. I help Betsy in the kitchen and with the housework. I suppose you could call me the maid."

Andrew nodded as he tried to assimilate this new fact. She called herself a maid, and yet she took meals with the family. Besides, she was white and he hadn't dreamed that a family in Georgia would hire a white maid. Maybe things in the South were done differently than he'd been raised to believe. "How long have you worked for them?"

"Just over a year."

"Aha! Just over a year ago was when I graduated from Hahnemann Medical College. That's in Philadelphia. Then I spent a year working in the slums, at an office where they offer free medical care to the poor. But I've been looking for a regular practice almost since I graduated."

Marybeth's heart ached. Philadelphia was not so very far from where she'd grown up. Not very far from her home and family. She carefully arranged her expression so as not to react to what he said. Besides, he'd mentioned something else that genuinely surprised her. "I didn't realize you graduated only last year."

He flashed a grin at her. "How old do you think I am?"

She realized she blundered and reddened. "Well, I..."

"I'm 28."

"Oh..."

"This," he pointed to his hair. "Confuses everybody. But we turn gray in my family very early. This happened by the time I was 23."

Marybeth nodded. Wade was 23. She tried to picture him with gray hair, but failed. However, she was still embarrassed and anxious to change the subject. "But why come South?"

"I wanted to broaden my horizons a bit. I started in Canada, then studied in Philadelphia, now I'm joining a practice in Atlanta." He laughed. "Maybe I'll just spend my life migrating south. By the time I'm 80 I should be living at Cape Horn!"

oOoOoOo

"Mrs. Meade, what are you doing?" Asked Dr. Meade.

She jumped and looked furtively at him from the garden-facing window here she was spying, but recovered herself quickly. "Shh. Come here and look."

He peered out the window. "Yes? So what? She's showing him around the garden--just like you told her to."

"That doctor you hired is taken with her. But he can't have her."

"What do you mean?" He asked, confused.

"I mean, she's going to marry Wade."

"Thunderation, woman! Wade hasn't asked for her and even if he did it's her choice, isn't it?"

"Of course it's her choice. But I don't want this Dr. Grant messing anything up between them before she gets to choose."

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Matchmaking doesn't become you, Mrs. Meade."

She waved him away. "Every decent, well bred woman of my age is duty-bound to make sure the young folks make smart matches. I'm _supposed_ to be doing this. Wade Hamilton is a smart match for her. Andrew Grant is not."

"I think you're creating a tempest in a teapot. Dandridge's feelings for Wade are abundantly clear."

"This is women's business--it doesn't matter what you think. Besides, I invited Wade to have dessert with us."

The Doctor shook his head. "Where did your obsession with them come from, anyway? Why must you forever be pushing her at Wade? You seem to forget that they found each other even without you."

Mrs. Meade continued to look out the window, but her voice grew softer. "Because ever since she came to work for us, I've felt she's a lost soul. Rudderless and alone. She doesn't talk about herself, or her life. Not ever! It isn't natural--all young girls like to talk about themselves. Everything I know about her--and it's not very much--I had to pry out of her.

"And then there's Wade. We know everything about him. We watched him grow up, just as we watched Charlie grow up before him. And yet, with his misfortune of having Scarlett for a mother--and her indifferent care of him--he seems very out of things. Haven't you noticed? He's like us, and yet he's not. And he's not adaptable like his sister. Ella fits in anywhere, but Wade, for all he's liked by his peers, has never quite been one of them...They need each other."

"I give up," Dr. Meade muttered. His wife had astounded him once more. She saw right to the heart of the matter, seen things which he had missed. Wade and Dandridge really were like two lost souls. No wonder there was such deep affection between them. They completed each other--two halves of a whole.

oOoOoOo

And just as Mrs. Meade had predicted (and to Andrew Grant's disappointment), Marybeth's tour of the garden was cut short by the appearance of another man, one who he quickly realized was Marybeth's beau. She didn't hang on his arm or giggle nervously, but the sudden light in her eyes when she saw him enter the garden and the shy pride in her voice when she introduced Wade Hampton Hamilton made the matter plain. This sweet slip of a girl was already spoken for. Mentally, Andrew shrugged. You win some, you lose some. Yet he couldn't help but entertain a faint wistfulness about what might have been.

After dessert was served, they sat out on the front porch in the twilight, the men smoking and enjoying brandy, the ladies swishing their fans in the heat. The evening ran rather late, and before he left, Andrew needed to discuss some matters of business with the Doctor privately. When he finally emerged through the front door some time later, he was conscious of the two young lovers in a dimly lit area of the front yard, her hand in his and her eyes lowered as he whispered (so he assumed) loverlike endearments to her. They were too quiet to hear--and he didn't wish to hear them anyway. He walked by, pretending not to notice. But as he drove away, he could hear their goodbyes at the carriage block, and Wade's carriage rumbling away.

oOoOoOo

A few days later, in the heat of the afternoon, the women of the Meade household were gathered in the kitchen. The workmen had just left, and on the wall by the back door hung a new addition to the house--a telephone.

Mrs. Meade and Betsy stared at it dubiously, but Marybeth was smiling, alive to its possibilities.

Betsy was the first to speak. "So, Miz Meade. Whut we do now?"

Mrs. Meade stared at the alien object gracing her wall as if she expected it to jump up and bite her. She shook her head. "How I wish the office telephone were installed first. Then the Doctor could call us and we could see how it worked."

"Whut happens when it rings? Whut we do then?" Betsy persisted.

"Pick it up, of course," laughed Marybeth.

The older women turned to look at her.

"The man from the telephone company showed us how it works. It doesn't look so hard," continued Marybeth. "Besides, you can't fight progress," she added a little defensively as they continued to just _look_ at her.

Mrs. Meade and Betsy shook their heads at each other. "Mus' be nice to be a chile'" Betsy muttered derisively. Marybeth put her hands on her hips and was about to retort when Mrs. Meade intervened to keep the peace.

"Marybeth dear, why don't you show us how it's done."

She suspected Mrs. Meade was making fun of her. So she threw her shoulders back, tossed her head, and stalked across the kitchen and picked up the earpiece. Almost immediately she heard the thin voice of the operator at the exchange.

Suddenly she felt self-conscious. Here she was, talking into a box nailed to the wall, with Mrs. Meade and Betsy staring at her. Her palms started to sweat and her voice was shaky as she requested the Butler residence.

In a few moments, she heard Ella's voice in her ear. Tinny and a little crackly, to be sure, but unmistakably Ella. Marybeth started to giggle.

"Ella, it's me, Marybeth," she shouted, trying to stifle her nervous laughter.

"Why hello there! Why are you shouting?"

"Uhm..." that was a stumper. Why was she shouting? But it only served to make her laugh harder. "So..." gasp, "...you..." gasp, giggle, "...can hear me!" and she whooped with laugher.

"Marybeth, the whole point of a telephone is so you can talk at a normal tone of voice but still be heard far away." It was obvious Ella was grinning.

"I...feel silly...talking...into a box," giggled Marybeth.

Ella sighed heavily. "You are _such_ a goose."

"Yes, I know. I have to hang up now."

Accordingly, she hung up and sank into one of the kitchen chairs, fishing in her pocket for her handkerchief. She was laughing so hard tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes.

"Will we have to go through such a spectacle every time you use the telephone?" Mrs. Meade asked sarcastically.

"It's quite possible," Marybeth retorted.

"Lawd ha' mercy," mumbled Betsy.


	40. violet 1

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**Sorry it took so long to update. We had another death in the family.**

India Wilkes woke up one morning in the summer heat, dressed with her usual swift efficiency (for no day, no matter how hot, could slow India Wilkes), and descended the stairs. She briefly consulted with Cookie about the menu for breakfast, and when she had satisfied herself that the meal would be served to her exact specifications, headed back up the stairs to wake Aunt Pittypat and help her dress.

But this morning, something went wrong.

India marched in after a perfunctory knock, as always. Opened the door with a brisk, "Good morning, Aunt Pitty. Time to rise and shine!" As always. Marched to the windows and flung open the draperies, as always.

But when she put her hand on Aunt Pitty's shoulder and looked into her face, she saw the eyes were wide and staring. She was breathing, to be sure, but it was labored, struggling. Her hands under the covers seemed to be twitching.

"Pitty!"

She heard India--those wide-open eyes began to dart side to side. Pittypat was responsive, but barely.

With a gasp of relief that the old lady was alive, at least, India hoisted her up with an arm behind her shoulders, put an extra pillow behind her back to keep her lifted and help her breathe more easily, unbuttoned the top buttons of her nightdress, and ran downstairs to fetch Dr. Meade.

oOoOoOo

By luck or by Providence, Scarlett was the one who answered the telephone when the call came.

"Scarlett, is it you? This is Ashley."

Scarlett was dumbfounded. Ashley had never, ever called her. It had been many years since he even called _on_ her, and then it was only to drop Beau off to play. But he sounded so weary she was immediately frightened.

"Yes, it's me. What's wrong?"

A deep breath. "Aunt Pitty suffered apoplexy last night. India found her this morning."

"Great balls of fire, Ashley! You have to get the doctor!"

"India managed to think of that," Ashley said with a hint of sarcasm. "He's in with her now. But if you could come by the house some time today..."

"Of course, Ashley. I'll be right over."

Scarlett told Wade and Ella and the servants the news--and up went a chorus of dismay. Ella's and Prissy's eyes filled with tears. Pork shook his head sadly. Dilcey--who was still in the middle of getting dressed and had not yet even fixed her hair to go to work at the Wilkes'--closed her eyes and moved her lips silently. Scarlett knew she was praying. Poor Dilcey had known Aunt Pitty longer than any of them.

"I'll drive you, Mother," Wade offered. "You and Ella. And Dilcey." He added with a nod to the Negro woman.

"No," Scarlett objected. "We'll drive separately. You still have to go to work today and I don't know how long they'll need me."

India met them at the door just as Dr. Meade was descending the stairs. With a jerk of his head, he ordered them all into the parlor. Ashley and Beau were already there, and they stood up when they saw the ladies enter with the doctor.

"I won't lie to you or soothe you," Dr. Meade began. "The damage she sustained looks pretty extensive. She may die within the next 24 hours. I'm sorry, Ashley, Miss Wilkes."

Ashley and India nodded stoically.

"If she pulls through, she could show a variety of symptoms. She might be weak or even paralyzed on one side. She may not be able to talk. She might have trouble swallowing. And she'll need help with her personal functions." At this the ladies blushed. "But whatever the case, she'll need to be taken care of around the clock. I'll have Miss James report for duty tomorrow morning. I expect to be here most of today and tonight."

At that moment, India's and Scarlett's eyes met. Then Scarlett put one gloved hand on India's elbow and pulled her aside.

"I don't like leaving Aunt Pittypat to be cared for by Miss James," Scarlett murmured. "Not that she's not a fine nurse, but she isn't family."

"I agree," answered India stiffly.

"We're her closest relatives. We should do it, India, you and I. We'll take care of her, at least part of the time. We can have Miss James for the times we can't be here."

"Do you mean it?" India asked incredulously. Then she tried to dissuade her. "After all, it sounds like a lot of work for you and you have the store to look after. And your house, of course." Even as Doctor Meade was describing Pittypat's condition to them, India had been making plans to write to Honey and compel her to come to Atlanta and help with the old woman. Of course, Honey had growing children by That Midwesterner (as India privately called her brother-in-law), and might not be able to come away quickly. And India would have to suffer a stranger in her house in the meantime. But now here was Scarlett standing before her with an even better suggestion. Practical India thought quickly--Miss James would have to be paid, but Scarlett wouldn't. On the other hand, the thought of being in constant contact with Scarlett Butler was repugnant.

"I don't need to be in the store all the time," Scarlett was saying. "Besides, she's my aunt through marriage. She sheltered me during the Reconstruction Years. I want to do this for her."

India continued to look dubious and when Scarlett saw how she was thinking rapidly for another excuse to throw at her she grew impatient.

"In the name of God, India, don't fight me now. We shouldn't be worried about ourselves. We should be thinking about what's best for Aunt Pittypat." And she held out her hand. "Agree for her sake."

India could not refuse an appeal to her sense of duty, no matter how distasteful that duty was. But it was with grave misgivings that she took her hand. "Very well, Scarlett. Let's tell Dr. Meade."

Dr. Meade was taken aback when Scarlett and India approached him with their idea. _They hate each other! And now here they are, saying they want to work together? Preposterous!_ He thought. So he, too, tried to dissuade them. "Listen to me girls," (he seemed to have forgotten that India was 44, Scarlett 40) "this is not going to be a garden party. You two don't seem to realize just how much care she'll need. Constant turning, and cleaning and feeding if she lives that long. Not to mention..."

Scarlett interrupted him. "Don't you remember, Doctor, that I nursed the soldiers during the War? I know all there is to know about smells and gangrene and...worse. And India ran Twelve Oaks after Mrs. Wilkes passed over. She took care of her people when they were sick, isn't that right India? Between the two of us we have enough experience..."

Dr. Meade put his hand on Scarlett's shoulder and sighed heavily. "You force me to say it out loud. Not only does Miss Hamilton need competent care, she needs tender care. That means no fighting, no strife or discord in or near the sickroom." Then he fixed a stern eye on both women, which made them both feel like naughty little children, and they squirmed a bit in spite of themselves. "You two have not been models of decorous friendship over the years. And Miss Pittypat's bedside is no place to resume some ancient feud that doesn't matter anymore."

India managed to look contrite. "We won't, Doctor. We just want to help Aunt Pittypat. Isn't that right, Scarlett?"

"Yes, that's right. We just want to help Aunt Pitty."

And so it was with grave misgivings that Dr. Meade nodded. "Very well. You may be Miss Hamilton's nurses. But so help me if I hear even one story about even one raised voice by her beside--you _will _answer to me, and I will _not_ be merciful to either of you..."

oOoOoOo

Ella overheard part of Mother's conversation with Aunt India--enough to know they were planning to take care of Aunt Pitty together--and turned away to hide her surprise. _Imagine! Mother and Aunt India cooperating! Wonders never cease!_ But when she turned her head she happened to look across the room at Cousin Beau. And when she saw his somber expression, she made her way to his side.

Taking his arm, she touched her forehead gently to his shoulder. She whispered, "Beau..."

Beau looked down into her wistful face and put his arm loosely around her slim shoulders. "Don't worry, Ella. Dr. Meade is doing everything he can," he whispered back.

Ella's jaw dropped. "You have it all backward, Beau," she said a bit indignantly. "I'm comforting you!"

He smiled at her then, the first time he'd smiled all day. "Then I don't want to disappoint you. Comfort me all you like."

"Now you're just being silly. Oh--Mother and Aunt India are finished talking to the doctor." And with a little moue of apology, she left him to listen in on the older women's discussion.

India watched Ella approach, and although not a muscle of her face moved, she was thinking _Dear Goodness, not again. Not another Wilkes man beguiled by an O'Hara girl_. For she had seen the look on Beau's face as he put his arm around Ella, the way their bodies lightly touched as they stood close together. But there was one significant difference between Ella and Scarlett. Ella had no idea of the effect she was having on Beau. Scarlett had chased Ashley deliberately and with purpose.

"Mother, what is it?" Ella asked.

Scarlett turned to her. "Aunt India and I are figuring out how we're going to take care of Aunt Pittypat."

"Yourselves?" Ella exclaimed (pretending she hadn't been eavesdropping earlier). "What about Miss James?"

"We'll use her sometimes, but Aunt India and I want to keep this in the family."

"Well, then...me too, Mother. I want to help, too."

Scarlett shook her head slowly. "I don't want you exposed to the sickroom. You're just a little too young."

"Mother," Ella retorted scornfully, "You were my age when you nursed the soldiers. I'm not a baby--I'm 19! I have heaps of spare time ever since I stopped going to school, and I feel so useless. Besides, I know how to take care of the sick. Haven't I watched you and Dilcey? I want to help poor Aunt Pitty--she was always kind to me. Even after she started getting..." she lowered her voice to a whisper "...senile."

Then she put on a rare stubborn look that made Scarlett catch her breath. Sweet, tractable Ella looked unaccountably like Pa! Like Bonnie! Scarlett touched her cheek briefly.

"You may help us in the sickroom, since you insist. But I don't want you overtiring yourself."

"I'm not an invalid," Ella said in her loftiest voice. "And I won't get tired at all, you'll see. But thank you for letting me help."

oOoOoOo

At the Meades' residence, Mrs. Meade waited anxiously for word of her old friend, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief from time to time as Marybeth sat by her and tried to offer whatever comfort she could.

"I really shouldn't be surprised, of course," Mrs. Meade tried to be philosophical. "After all, she was 83 this year. But it's still such a shock when it comes."

"You mustn't talk that way, Mrs. Meade," Marybeth admonished her. "You make it sound as if she were dead."

"You don't understand. She's too old and frail--her body can't tolerate this. Even if she survives, she'll be an invalid the rest of her life."

Marybeth thought that was a horrible thing to say, but didn't have the chance to object as Mrs. Meade continued.

"I suppose I should get used to it. We're all getting up there in years. Mrs. Merriwether is 65, Mrs. Elsing is 60. I'm 61--we were all girls together. And Pittypat--well, she was older than us, but she was so childlike it seemed like she was one of us." Then she sighed. "A time to be born and a time to die, as the Good Book says."

Marybeth couldn't resist speaking up anymore. "That's really morbid."

Mrs. Meade shook her head. "You only think so because of your youth. But I'll let you in on a secret. I may have a 61-year-old body on the outside, but on the inside, I feel young like you. Old age doesn't make you stop wanting and wishing and dreaming for things. It just makes it physically harder to attain those dreams. To suffer senescence, senility--the inevitable road leading to the grave. When will the doctor send word," she added irritably. "He should know I'd be here worried sick."

oOoOoOo

But Pittypat Hamilton managed to pull through that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. She could no longer speak clearly--all she could say was "that-that-that"--and she could barely move her left side. Her nieces and nephews fell into a routine that revolved around her and her care was divided among them. India, Scarlett and Ella took turns washing and feeding. Ashley, Beau and Wade were called into service when the old lady needed to be moved into the chair to change her linens.

An unexpected consequence of Scarlett's and India's working side-by-side was a grudging respect that grew between them.

Scarlett was shocked to see how tender a nurse India was to her elderly cousin. She washed her gently, guarded her from drafts, turned her carefully to avoid giving the old lady bedsores. And when Dr. Meade deemed Pitty was recovered enough to eat without choking, India fed her soft things from a spoon, with one arm behind her shoulders to hold her up, and stroking her throat gently to remind her to swallow. Scarlett knew it was fatiguing work, but India never became impatient. Not even once.

On her part, India was shocked to see how dedicated a worker Scarlett was. She never shirked her part of the chores, never tried to push anything off on India that she could do on her own, she came early every morning and stayed longer than anybody expected her to. Despite Scarlett's denials to the contrary, India knew that she was tired from managing the store and her house and helping with Pitty. But she never complained. Not even once.

But even more unexpected for Scarlett was the result of her closer contact with Ashley Wilkes.

In her wild remorse following Melanie's death, when Scarlett fully realized the depth of both Melly's and Rhett's love and how she had distained both, her feelings for Ashley had turned to repugnance. He was her partner in crime, he was partly responsible for her having treated Rhett and Melanie the way she had. Not that she excused her own role in their affair, but she couldn't look at Ashley without remembering every sneaky, unfaithful thing she had ever done. As time went by, and she was unable to fix the breach between herself and Rhett, her repugnance towards Ashley paled to indifference and then faded almost to forgetfulness. Except for the occasional twinge.

But now Ashley was in her thoughts again, even if only as another pair of hands when the old lady needed lifting.

Then one day, India went out to do the marketing and Scarlett walked in on Ashley trying to give Pitty a drink of water. His attempt was clumsy and the water dribbled down her chin. Pitty's eyes flew to Scarlett's and the look in them was distraught.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ashley," Scarlett scolded as she flew around the room to grab a towel and snatch the cup away from him. "Don't _drown_ poor Aunt Pittypat." He submitted to her meekly and sat back into the chair and watched her gently dry Pitty's chin and give her a drink. When Scarlett met his gaze, he smiled drowsily.

"You've worked so hard helping us with Aunt Pittypat. Thank you," Ashley said simply.

Scarlett nodded and put the cup on the bedside table, then hung the towel to dry. She sat down across the bed from Ashley, but he wasn't looking at her anymore.

_How odd_, she thought, _that I should be sitting alone with Ashley. Alone and unsupervised_. The last time she was alone with Ashley was the day of his surprise party. Only disaster and heartache had resulted from that.

She picked up her knitting needles that she'd left the last time she tended PItty and resumed her row. From under her eyelashes, she looked at Ashley. He was still not looking at her--he was looking at Aunt Pittypat.

_He's aged_, Scarlett thought. _He is only a few years older than me, but he could pass as older than Rhett. Melanie's death aged him beyond all measure. And yet, he's still a handsome man. Beau looks like him--like a Wilkes. He doesn't favor the Hamiltons. Wade is a Hamilton through and through._

She looked down at her knitting. _This is the first time since Melanie's funeral that I've had any sort of conversation with him that didn't concern the children. I did not do a good job of honoring Melanie's request, her dying request that I look after him_. Her conscience gave her a painful twinge. _But I meant to_, she thought in anguish. _I never meant to break my promise, I swear--but Mother of God, I did the best I could! The taint of scandal was still on both of us, despite Melanie's efforts to shield us. If I'd paid the kind of attention to Ashley that Melly would have wanted, the old cats would have been on me like a duck on a June bug. And how would that have helped either Ashley or Beau?_

_But that wasn't the real reason I avoided Ashley_, Scarlett admitted to herself in shame. _The real reason was I couldn't bear to look at him and be forced to remember my own guilt. If you weren't such a good person, Melly Wilkes, I would wonder if you didn't lay that responsibility on my shoulders just to punish me..._

_And yet--and yet Ashley did well, despite it all. The mills aren't nearly as profitable under his management as they were under mine, but he's managed to make a modest living from them. He sent Beau to college, he pays Dilcey's salary, he helps support Aunt Pittypat and India._

_And_, Scarlett admitted with wonderment, _he did it all without convict labor. He returned them to the State as soon as the deed to the mills was in his name, and he hired Negroes and poor whites. And he got work out of them, beyond anybody's expectations._

Scarlett frowned as she stitched. In his mild-mannered way, Ashley managed his employees well. Like all other mill owners, he expected them to show up for work every day and put in a full twelve hours. But he paid them better than they could expect at other mills, and he took a personal interest in their lives. He made it his business to know each of them by name, and to ask after their families. If one of them became ill or injured, Ashley paid part of their medical bills. If one of their wives had a baby, he sent a gift to their house. And if his attitude towards them was rather paternalistic, a bit too squire-of-the-manor, his men weren't offended--his quiet demeanor and simple, unstylish clothing softened the effect.

_My men worked for me because they were afraid of Gallegher. Ashley's men work for him because they like him_.

She glanced at him again. _But then, men have always liked Ashley, even when they didn't understand him. The County boys all thought he was too bookish, but they elected him captain of the Troop. The men of the Atlanta Old Guard stood staunchly by him even during the scandal with me. They don't understand him, but they like him. Of course, they don't know him the way I know him. Because of how well I know him, since Melly's death, I can barely stand to look at him. I can hardly look at this...this... _

All of a sudden, she felt a strange sensation of vertigo and the room suddenly became brighter.

Scarlett felt a moment's panic--maybe she was having a fit of apoplexy herself--and her heart pounded. She stifled a gasp, but dropped her stitches and fumbled for them so nervously that Ashley peered over at her curiously, and she met his eyes before she looked away.

_There is nothing wrong with the room--nothing wrong with my eyes. Why could I never see it? Why did I have to go all these long years before I could see the truth? He's neither a knight in shining armor nor a helpless, poor-spirited creature. Ashley is something else entirely, something I never recognized, something apart from both extremes. He is merely...a fallible human being._

"Scarlett? Are you quite well?" He asked, full of concern.

Scarlett looked across at him, stunned by this new revelation, and believed that for the first time in her life she was looking at him the way he really was. For now, at the age of forty, she looked at him, not through the infatuated eyes of the girl she once was, not through the devastated and disillusioned eyes of the woman she turned into after Melanie's death, but through unclouded eyes that could see him as he really and truly was.

And she realized he was merely a man.

She suddenly understood it all. He hadn't been a hypocrite all those years he talked about honor. He really and truly believed in it--so far as he understood it. He was weak enough to kiss her, but strong enough never to let their affair progress beyond those kisses. He burned for her, but he never left Melanie.

For the first time in her life, Scarlett looked at him and felt neither desire, nor repugnance, nor pity.

She looked at him and felt compassion. Compassion for a human being as flawed as she was. One who had high ideals, who struggled and strived for those ideals and yet failed and suffered for his failings. Yes, she knew how he suffered for his infidelity to Melanie.

He strove for honor the way she strove to be a great lady.

She didn't realize she was staring at him as she thought these things out until she realized he was looking at her with some alarm.

"Scarlett?"

Scarlett took a deep breath and smiled at Ashley reassuringly. "I just dropped my stitches." Then she resumed her knitting.

Yes, he was just a man, flawed, fallible.

And, she decided, not entirely unlikable.

A/N: Next Chapter, Rhett returns.

Just in case somebody objects to the ages I assigned to the Old Guard, only Pittypat's age was ever revealed and she was 60 when Scarlett first went to live in Atlanta. In the movie, Mrs. Meade had white hair, but on the other hand, Phil Meade was younger than Careen O'Hara, so I decided to put hers, Mrs. Merriwether' and Mrs. Elsing's ages to be in Ellen O'Hara's generation rather than Pittypat's. Dr. Meade conceivably could have been several years older than his wife, especially since he had to go through medical training then set himself up in a practice before he married. Of course, in fanfiction, a lot of things are open to interpretation…


	41. violet 2

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

"I'm glad you could come away for a buggy ride with me, Ella," Albert said as he slapped the reins on his horse.

"I've been busy with Aunt Pittypat."

"I know. And you're dear and sweet to help her. But today I'm taking you out and I intend for you to have a good time."

Ella smiled tightly and inclined her head towards him, and he whistled a merry tune with happy satisfaction.

The Fundraiser had ushered in a golden summer for Albert. Frankie was gone and he had Ella all to himself now. He called on her frequently, took her for buggy rides, escorted her to parties. She was sweet and innocent and true--exactly what he needed after the false and treacherous Camilla.

The summer was not quite as golden for Ella. The revelations at the Fundraiser had unlocked a restless uneasiness that time had not been able to soothe. She cared about Albert, she hastened to reassure herself--maybe even loved him. But quite without her volition, she found herself haunted. Haunted by the beautiful ghost of the said Camilla.

When she was with Albert, it was easy enough to forget her, for he was attentive and eager to please and he treated her with a deference that she found flattering. But she could not be with him all the time...

Ella found herself thinking about Camilla at the oddest times--while brushing Aunt Pittypat's hair, for instance. Or during dinner. Or while sitting on the veranda enjoying the evening breeze. Ella was the type of girl who reveled in life, wanted to enjoy every minute. But her naturally happy disposition was becoming increasingly more troubled by unwanted, intrusive thoughts.

Ella was still consumed by curiosity and Albert's confession had only served to make her insecure. Neither of them ever referred to Camilla again, but as time went on, she grew more beautiful, more gracious, more perfect--if only in Ella's imagination. She took on larger than life proportions and Ella despaired that she could ever compete. Nor was she able to forget. Camilla. Camilla. Camilla.

Camilla wasn't a ghost, Ella finally decided resentfully. Camilla was a vampire slowly sucking the joy out of her existence.

Forgive and forget. It was a maxim Ella had heard her whole life and with her whole heart she believed in it. But now it seemed to her that the things she'd been called on to forgive and forget up until this time were very small. Even then, perhaps she could have forgiven Camilla (somehow she cast no blame on Albert for the affair). But although she wanted to, she was unable to _forget_. This constant and unresolved tension could not continue forever, and it inevitably found an outlet. Slowly and without her even noticing it, Ella was beginning to grow self-righteous.

It was a natural enough development. After all--what kind of girl agreed to be a mistress? In Ella's experience, only girls like the ones at Belle. Or the occasional poor white who found herself in a fix with no husband. But it was inconceivable to Ella that a girl her own social class would find herself in that position. At least, she had never heard of such a thing. She didn't realize that among her peers, a girl who got in trouble would be hustled away as quickly as possible--and a story put out to explain her absence. _She's visiting an Aunt in another state_. Or _She's gone away to school._ Or _She's been feeling poorly and a trip to the country is just what she needs_.

But in the meantime, she didn't want to let on to Albert that she remembered or thought about that fateful conversation. She kept it inside, and it was consuming her.

oOoOoOo

Scarlett pulled the sheet and blanket up to Aunt Pittypat's chin and tiptoed out of the darkened room. She was sleeping over to help India give Miss James the night off.

She walked into the kitchen, nodded to India who was standing over the stove, and sank down into one of the kitchen chairs. India poured her some tea.

"She finally fell asleep," said Scarlett as she took a sip. "She keeps saying _that-that_. I just know she wants to tell us something but can't. It must be very frustrating for her to only be able to say one word."

"I'll ask Dr. Meade if he'll prescribe a bromide for her so she can sleep--he'll be here in the morning. But I'm not so sure she really _thinks_ anymore," countered India. "He said there isn't any way of knowing if she's still in her right mind or if she even has a mind to speak of. Of course, she was getting senile even before the apoplexy."

"But what if she does think?" Mused Scarlett, with a faraway look. "What do you suppose she thinks about? Her past life? After all, it's not as if she did anything exciting or romantic. How interesting can _her _memories be?"

"How can you say that, Scarlett?" Asked India a little defensively--after all, she had never done anything exciting or romantic either. "She raised Melly and Charles, didn't she? She survived the War. She was surrounded by loving family and friends. She must have had enormous satisfaction over her life."

"But she never really lived," Scarlett insisted, oblivious to India's mounting distress. "She never had anything that was all her own and not just shared or borrowed from somebody else's life." As she brooded over her tea, she didn't notice that India's eyes had narrowed dangerously.

But when India spoke, her voice was even and controlled. "It's true that Aunt Pittypat never had a husband or children of her own. She doesn't even own this house and never has. And I suppose that to _some_ people, such a life must not have a lot of value. But on the other hand, she was surrounded by friends who loved her and petted her. She had the utter devotion of those two _borrowed_ children, Charlie and Melly. She never had an enemy in the world. Even Uncle Henry wasn't her enemy--at least _he_ didn't think so. And when she dies, whether it's tonight or ten years in the future, she will be remembered by everybody who knew her as a sweet, if petted, darling. She won't leave behind even one person who will remember her with rancor. Of how many people can that be said? Not me, I admit it. And certainly not you, Scarlett."

"My, aren't we outspoken tonight?" Asked Scarlett, stung.

India shrugged. "We both made our share of enemies--I refuse to sweeten the bald facts with sugar. And if Aunt Pitty's life was bland by your standards, at least it wasn't bitter. And I think she earned her untroubling memories. If some of us suffer on our deathbeds one day, it will be because we brought it upon ourselves through our own selfishness."

Scarlett's hands were trembling now with the effort of not smacking India's smug face. "Are you trying to tell me something, India Wilkes? That if I had been a better person Rhett would stay in Atlanta more often? Oh, don't look surprised. It's what the whole town thinks. --Or you think Bonnie would still be alive if I had been kind and unselfish like Melanie Wilkes?"

India met her eyes. "Why Scarlett, you go too far. I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that I didn't feel some satisfaction over your marital troubles. But as for what happened to Bonnie--do you really think I'm a fiend who would wish a child's death?"

"No, of course not." Scarlett said low, although her eyes flashed.

India folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, looking for all the world like a schoolmarm with a difficult pupil. "However, you did manage to spread your share of misery in your time. Don't deny it." Still in that same calm voice.

At this point, Scarlett decided to retreat to high moral ground. "We promised Dr. Meade we wouldn't fight over Aunt Pittypat's sickbed."

"We're not at Aunt Pitty's sickbed, are we?" Then India smiled slyly. "And besides, it wouldn't be the first time we were liars, would it, Scarlett? I lied when I said Ashley was holding you at the mill like a lover--when I could see quite plainly there was nothing more than friendship in his embrace. But then you lied when you said you had no loverlike feelings toward my brother, so we're even, aren't we?"

But Scarlett was finished. "I don't have to listen to this," she said, and pushed her chair back and stood up.

"That's right, Scarlett O'Hara," India taunted dryly. "Run away. Justify yourself. Deny any responsibility. That's what I can't stand about you. You always think about what you want--and never about other people's rights. I loved Stuart Tarleton, all those years ago, and you didn't . If you had really, truly loved him, I could have forgiven you for charming him away from me, but you cared nothing for him. And then taking Charles from Honey when you didn't love him, either..."

Scarlett's hands balled into fists. "How dare you..." she said, voice shaking.

But India was unperturbed by Scarlett's rage. She continued to sit and speak as calmly as if she were discussing the weather or a new hat. She tilted her head to the side. "Do you remember back in the War years, before you came to live here in Atlanta? How you used to come over to Twelve Oaks to call on us? Your excuse was because we were Charlie's family, but I know you wanted to hear news about...somebody else. And yet, did you ever stop to think what your visits were for my sister? She loved Charlie, she was thrilled to be marrying him! What do you think it was like for her to have to entertain Charlie's wife? And when Wade came along, don't you think it was torture for her to have to look at your baby knowing he should have been hers?" Then her voice changed, became pensive. "Have you ever really looked at your son? He's the very image of Charlie."

"Why you sanctimonious--" Scarlett spluttered. "--You--you horrid--you--you--"

"Bitch?" India supplied helpfully.

Scarlett knew India was mocking her and became livid. "I have been here every day helping you take care of Aunt Pitty. We've worked side by side sharing the work evenly."

"Why Scarlett, I know that. I'm very grateful for your help with PItty." Still in that calm, imperturbable voice.

But that imperturbable voice only served to make Scarlett wild. "And after all that, all the thanks I get--all you can say--is to dredge up the past? You're _sick_, India Wilkes! Warped with the rage of 20 years. If you never got married, it's your own fault. You're not hideous looking or deformed. You could have gone out and found you some widower who wouldn't be so choosy looking for a second mother to his children. But you didn't--you sat around, giving yourself airs about your lost Stu and brooding. There's nothing I can do to change the past, and I know I was no angel. But come off it, India! What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do? I'm sorry." And Scarlett leaned forward and pounded the table with her fist. "I'm sorry--" pound! "I'm sorry--" pound! pound!

Scarlett was quite flushed now, her hair coming loose with messy tendrils around her face that she didn't even bother to push back. India sat and stared at her with those plain, inscrutable eyes. Then she smiled--a genuine smile without a hint of mockery in it--and leaned back in her chair. "Thank you, Scarlett. That's all I wanted to hear--an apology."

Scarlett stared at her, winded and dumbfounded.

"Don't gape, Scarlett. You'll never hear another word from me on the subject for as long as I live. Word of a Wilkes. You don't doubt _me_, do you?"

"No," Scarlett said. Oddly, she realized it was true.

"Drink your tea before it gets cold," India commanded. "Then go lie down. I'll take the first shift tonight." And with that she closed her eyes and folded her hands across her stomach.

oOoOoOo

"Careful now, Ella. Don't spill it."

Scarlett and Ella were preparing to give Pittypat a bed bath, and Ella had brought the hot water upstairs in a heavy iron pot, the weight of which made her arms shake a little with the strain.

"There," Ella replied as she eased the pot onto the table next to Pittypat's bed. "See Mother? I didn't spill a drop." Then she straightened up, looked at the door and squealed. "Uncle Rhett!"

Scarlett whirled around. Sure enough, there in the doorway stood Rhett--he had climbed the stairs silently with his light, Indian-like tread. But before she could react, Ella had trotted around the bed and thrown herself into her stepfather's arms to give him a smacking kiss.

Rhett squeezed Ella and patted her, then gently unwound her arms from his neck. "What's going on, Scarlett?"

He fully expected another one of her demure, diffident "great lady" responses. But instead she took him by surprise by marching up to him boldly, taking his hand without so much as a by-your-leave and pulling him out of Aunt Pittypat's bedroom and into the unused one next door. When he glanced around quickly, he realized it was Scarlett's room from the War years and when she was married to Frank.

"Aunt Pittypat had apoplexy." Scarlett crossed her arms and said abruptly. "She's doing better than she was, but we have to help her around the clock. We were just about to bathe her."

"What do you have to do with all this? I never thought you liked Pittypat very much."

Scarlett shrugged, pushed a stray hair behind her ear. "It just seemed like the right thing to do. I really don't know." Then she looked up at him with a wry smile. "India and I have been doing most of the nursing."

"Why Scarlett!" Rhett was too surprised to dissemble or make a sarcastic remark.

Then Scarlett grinned outright. "And we haven't killed each other yet, although we have come close."

That mischievous grin was so cute, Rhett nearly smiled back at her, but he recovered himself. He cast about for something to say, but she interrupted him.

"We have to bathe Pitty before the water gets cold, so you better run along home. You can't be around when a lady is taking a bath, after all. I'll see if India will excuse me early this evening." Two brisk pats on his arm, and she was gone. He heard the door to Aunt Pittypat's room shut and click.

_Run along home?_ He thought. _Did she just tell me to run along home?_ A surge of indignation welled up--but it was tinged with amusement. That was the most natural he had seen Scarlett for so many years. He wasn't chasing her, she wasn't chasing him--they had talked the way normal people talk. Reluctantly he realized--he liked it.


	42. violet 3

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**A/N Thanks again for the reviews--they really keep me going!**

Rhett returned to the mansion, still mulling over his conversation--his normal conversation--with his wife. And reluctantly he had to admit (but only to himself, of course) that he was looking forward to seeing Scarlett that night--if for no other reason than he was curious to see how long this new mood would last. Or, indeed, if it would still be there at all when she came home.

It touched him to see Scarlett and Ella together, Scarlett teaching the girl how to take care of the older lady. It was an ordinary domestic scene, the players could have been any mother and daughter in the world, but this was Scarlett Butler--his Scarlett--unselfconsciously taking care of Pittypat and mothering Ella. Rhett was no fool--he knew very well Scarlett had little love for the old lady--but once more, she had jumped into the breach and taken on the responsibility for another person's welfare. Just like she had done for her family and Negroes after the War, rather than breaking them up and sending them to relatives to care for. Scarlett might grumble, she might give to others rather ungraciously, but to Rhett's mind it was better than the hypocritical but kindly excuse-finding that too many other people did--_Oh dear, I couldn't possibly right now, so busy you know, and anyhow I wouldn't know what to do_--all the while smiling sweetly.

He went to his room (ignoring Atlas who was lying in front of Scarlett's door--he growled low in the throat when he saw Rhett, but made no threatening advances) to check that Pork had unpacked his things properly. Of course, this was a completely unnecessary task, for Pork had taken care of Gerald O'Hara's needs in life, then became Rhett's body servant when he married Scarlett--but it gave Rhett something to do. As he rummaged through his bureau, he thought he heard footsteps in the floor above him. Common sense told him it was probably Prissy cleaning the ballroom, but he was bored and decided to investigate.

Rhett climbed upstairs to the wide-open room and to his annoyance found the noise was coming from Wade and Marybeth, who were dancing to a tune coming from a little music box sitting on the piano. He was holding her rather more closely than was strictly necessary for a waltz and it wasn't lost on Rhett that Marybeth wasn't putting up any resistance.

Rhett made his presence known immediately and the two broke apart. To the girl's credit, she had the good breeding to blush and look embarrassed. However, it annoyed Rhett to see that Wade was still courting that girl. He really needed to talk to Wade about the dangers of fortune-hunting women.

Wade, seeing Marybeth's embarrassment, decided to take her home and Rhett was left alone in the mansion.

Where he waited. And he waited. He paced the floor, but Scarlett didn't come home. When suppertime came, Cookie asked him timidly if he wanted her to make a tray for him, but he refused. He poked his head out of the door to his room some time later when he heard voices in the kitchen, but it was only Dilcey returning from the Wilkes'.

Still no Scarlett.

Around eight o'clock, the front door opened and he poked his head out again. It was only Ella. She ran up the stairs and kissed him good night. "Cousin Beau drove me home, Uncle Rhett."

"Where's your mother?"

"Helping Aunt Pittypat," answered Ella, rather surprised at his ridiculous question. Then she disappeared into her room.

At this, the worm turned. If Scarlett couldn't have the decency to come home when she knew he was there, he wouldn't be home when she returned. He roared for Pork to hitch the carriage and he drove himself out to Belle's.

Dear Belle! She must have already eaten supper, but she gave no demur. She had supper sent up for the both of them and ate with him and kept the whiskey flowing. And when Rhett pulled her into his embrace, she was soft and yielding. But then again, Belle never said _no_ to Rhett.

Despite his ire against Scarlett, or maybe because of it, his and Belle's union was rather perfunctory, and afterward he propped himself up, leaning against the backboard, and smoked a cigar as he stared into the darkness.

Belle rolled onto her side and pretended that she was asleep as Rhett smoked. Not a word had passed between them about Scarlett or the children. But Belle knew that somehow, in some way, Scarlett had gotten under Rhett's skin once more. And this time, to her dismay, Rhett wasn't trying to find a way to get her out.

oOoOoOo

After her brief encounter with Rhett, Scarlett returned to Aunt Pittypat's bedside, helped Ella bathe her and afterward sat with her. But all the while she was assailed by self-doubt.

All these days she had been preoccupied caring for the old lady and hadn't had time to prepare for Rhett's arrival. Not that she usually knew when Rhett was about to make his appearances in Atlanta--he liked to show up unannounced. But she kept herself ever ready _in her mind_, steeling herself to see him, just in case. She had a dread of being unprepared for him. To her, being unprepared meant being vulnerable to his coldness and verbal jibes.

But when Rhett showed up in Aunt Pitty's doorway, of all places, Scarlett reacted without thinking. She took charge of the situation as she saw it. But now she feared she was too bold and forward towards him. She had utterly abandoned the airs and graces of a great lady that she affected ever since the night of Melanie's death. Now she was afraid she had put herself at his mercy.

It never occurred to Scarlett that Rhett wasn't looking for airs and graces. Melanie had had few affectations, but what Rhett had admired about her was that her sincere compassion for the suffering of other people. Melanie wasn't "nice". Melanie was kind.

But Scarlett was never able to make these fine distinctions. Rhett had made it clear to her that he would not be chased the way she chased Ashley. Her smiles and joking could be interpreted as flirtatious, she worried, and she dreaded facing Rhett at home now. He knew she loved him, and was afraid he would take that knowledge and torture her with it. What guise the torture would take, she didn't know, and didn't care to find out. It could be coldness, mockery, maybe he wouldn't be there at all and she would come home to an empty house. Nonetheless, she didn't feel equal to being a whipping boy for Rhett. So she decided she wouldn't tell India she was leaving early, even though she was sure India would let her leave without complaint.

oOoOoOo

Rhett did return home that night a little after midnight. And it seemed Scarlett didn't return at all. Or if she did, she didn't look for Rhett too diligently. All he knew was that when he woke up the next morning, he hadn't seen Scarlett. Nor was she at the breakfast table. He didn't care to ask the servants where she was, so he hied himself to Aunt Pitty's. After all, he could use the excuse that he was visiting the old lady.

He arrived to see Mrs. Meade in conference with India Wilkes on the front porch, fans swishing, heads together, whispering.

"Go on in, Captain Butler," India said with jerk of her head towards the door. "The doctor should be finished with Aunt PItty by now."

So Rhett climbed the stairs to Aunt Pittypat's room, fully expecting to see wizened old Dr. Meade, and maybe Scarlett would be there, too. But to his surprise, it was a younger man, gray haired, but with a young, unlined face. Marybeth was with him, wearing a large white apron over her plain pink calico and she was listening carefully as he explained something to her while he put his instruments back in his black bag. She saw Rhett first, and startled and blushed a little before she murmured something to the man.

The new young doctor turned his head to the door, then stepped forward, hand extended. "Hello there, sir. I'm Dr. Grant, taking care of Miss Hamilton. What can we do for you today?" His manner was friendly, but it was clear he was in charge of the sickroom and would put Rhett out if he deemed he had no business being there.

"Miss Hamilton is my wife's aunt. I'm here for a visit," Rhett replied.

Dr. Grant glanced briefly at Marybeth as if for confirmation, and she nodded slightly as she reached behind her neck to untie her apron strings. She looked anxious to leave.

"Well then, pull up a chair." He briefly smiled at the old lady. "Miss Hamilton's coming along as well as could be expected--Oh, are you leaving us Marybeth?"

She nodded as she was hung the apron on a hook on the wall.

"I pressed this little lady into service when I saw she came along with Mrs. Meade," Dr. Grant continued in his booming, jovial voice. Then he put his hand on Marybeth's shoulder lightly. "Make sure you thank Mrs. Meade for me for letting me borrow you."

She nodded briefly at both men and took her leave. Rhett watched her go, his mind working rapidly. He had been quick to notice that the way Dr. Grant looked at her was quite similar to the way Wade looked at her. Marybeth didn't seem to return the doctor's fondness but then again, she wouldn't be stupid enough to jeopardize her courtship with somebody as wealthy as Wade for a flirtation with some struggling young doctor. But it was a pity for Wade--he would forever have to defend his rights from her admirers. Girls like Marybeth always seemed to attract that sort of attention. Wade would be better off with some plain Jane. It was another reason for Rhett to dislike her--he was more convinced than ever she was only after one thing.

oOoOoOo

After a brief visit to Pittypat, Rhett determined Scarlett was at the store, but he had too much pride to chase her down there. He went to the bank to fiddle with some papers, then when he decided he'd wasted enough time, went home.

Scarlett wasn't there, and Rhett had seen enough of his own room for one visit, so he went onto the back veranda and lit a cigar and chewed on it impatiently.

"Uncle Rhett?" Came the timid little feminine voice.

He turned around and smiled at Ella. It was obvious the girl had something on her mind. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked nervous. He felt sorry for her in that moment and held out his arm gallantly. "Why don't we go to the paddock to see the horses?" He suggested gently, and she took his arm gratefully.

They strode together through the back yard and still Ella said nothing. But he could feel her tension, the way her hand fluttered a bit in the crook of his elbow. Her head was down, face pointed away from him.

Then, without preamble, she came out with it. "Is-it-true-that-babies-start-from-mating-like-dogs-and-cats-or-Mrs.-Tarleton's-breeding-stallion-for-instance?" All in one breath.

Rhett was stunned. He expected some little confession about some minor peccadillo--Ella usually told him everything if he was home, rather than face Scarlett. He glanced down at her ginger head, but couldn't see her face, for which he was heartily grateful. Rhett marveled at the trick of fate that had thrust this conversation, unlooked for and unwanted, upon him, and wished he was anywhere else but Atlanta. The irony of it all! He, Rhett Butler, reprobate, roué, the man with whom no decent woman was safe! Rhett Butler, who had caroused with women of a certain reputation all his life, who had told and laughed over the coarsest of jokes and stories, and in mixed company, too! And yet, he was utterly unprepared for this blunt question from his innocent stepdaughter. To his horror, he realized he was blushing.

Desperate for release and stalling for time, he decided on an attack.

"Your mother doesn't allow you at Fairhill when Mrs. Tarleton's contracting a job, does she?"

Her face remained averted, but she gasped. "Good heavens, no! Cousin Susie and I sneaked over there one time."

"Whatever possessed you--?"

"Oh, it was ever so many years ago. Wade and Little Joe Fontaine were laughing about it once and we overheard. Then they wouldn't tell us what was so funny. But never mind about that, Uncle Rhett. Besides, you can't punish me now."

But Rhett, not anxious to get back to the question at hand, attempted to keep her sidetracked. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because we were already punished--several times over. First Mrs. Tarleton caught us and blessed us out. Then she escorted us home in disgrace and Aunt Suellen took over from there. She hollered at us together. Then Uncle Will lectured us sternly. I think she would have taken a strap to us, but Uncle Will intervened and said we'd been punished enough. So then we weren't allowed to go any farther than the front porch for a week. Afterward, Mother punished me some more when I returned to Atlanta."

_Good for Scarlett_, Rhett thought. _Who knew bringing up daughters was such a chore! And so many pitfalls!_ If poor Bonnie had lived, Rhett would have kept his Smith and Wesson oiled and at the ready at all times to defend her honor and reputation. Then he reproached himself. Ella was his responsibility, too. She became his responsibility when he married her mother. Maybe he shouldn't leave her to fend for herself at this delicate age. For as smart as Scarlett was about men, there were some things that were better for a man to handle. Better for a father to handle.

As ordinary as Wade and Ella were, there were times they amazed him. He thought back to when he'd taken it upon himself to explain the facts of life to Wade. The boy must have been about 12 years old and Rhett sat him down and told him everything. To his surprise, Wade didn't squirm or blush or grow sullen (when Rhett was a boy, he had done all three when his father had the talk with him). Instead, he listened intently, his expression serious, as if he were studying an extremely important lesson in school. When Rhett finished his talk, Wade sat back a moment, rubbed his chin, then leaned forward. "Uncle Rhett," he'd said, what does it mean when people say..." And with that he'd opened up and peppered Rhett with a barrage of questions and observations. Rhett found that despite his diffidence, Wade was very aware of the opposite sex and had already formed a preference (petite and curvy). He confessed that he felt clumsy and stupid around girls, even to the point that he couldn't bring himself to tease them like some of the other boys did. Some of his queries were quite astute--when he asked Uncle Rhett whether girls enjoyed doing "all that", it floored him. Rhett himself was all of thirty before he wondered or cared.

But he couldn't meander among old memories. He had to answer Ella's question. They were standing at the back paddock now, and she put her arms on the top rail and rested her chin on them. They still hadn't looked at each other.

"I shouldn't be telling you this. You should be asking your mother." But if Scarlett followed the lead of every other mother, she wouldn't talk about these things to Ella until the night before her wedding. Then he sighed. "First of all, mind your reputation. In other words, you wait until you're safely married."

Ella nodded and tried to be patient. After all, she already knew _that_. And this wasn't answering her question.

Rhett sighed again, looked away from her, and briefly explained married life. Thank the stars she was still too embarrassed to look directly at him! But he was certain she was blushing red.

"Of course," she faltered, when he was finished and she had stopped blushing. "I might just wind up an old maid and none of this will apply to me," with that she laughed nervously.

Rhett shrugged. And although he later wondered what made him continue talking, he said, "But marriage could be fun--if you marry a man you love. And make sure he loves you."

Marriage as fun? She had never heard that before. You married for love--that sweet, dizzy feeling you got for that one special man. Then you could live with him and have babies. And he would take care of you and the babies. And life together would be contentment and bliss. But if Uncle Rhett said it was fun, he must be right. She thought about Albert and the mistress he had kept and looked sideways at Rhett.

"Did you tell Wade to mind his reputation?"

Wasn't she finished asking questions _yet_? "I told him what he needed to know," Rhett evaded.

But he underestimated how nervous she was to ask him anything at all. It was a painful, embarrassing conversation, and when the worst of the tension was passed, she needed to relieve her feelings somehow. She chose sauciness. "I know what that means. Boys can do anything they like. Girls have to act virtuous. Not," she hastened to add, for out of the corner of her eye she saw Rhett glower, "that I will go wrong. But I do think it's peculiar how the world is like that."

"That, young lady, is enough." And abruptly Rhett ended the conversation.


	43. violet 4

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

**A/N Sorry I haven't uploaded in a while. The whole end-of-the-school-year-crazies, you understand. **

Scarlett's avoidance of Rhett continued during the entire length of his stay in Atlanta. She knew it was craven and despised herself for it--after all, she was the same Scarlett O'Hara who faced down Yankees and famine and social ruin--but she simply didn't have the courage to go home when she knew Rhett would be there, and that was that.

Besides, it was _so easy _to avoid him nowadays! She could plead her duties at the store and her responsibilities to Aunt Pittypat; and to be perfectly honest with herself, she wasn't sorry to have excuses not to see him. The less time she spent with him the fewer opportunities he had to spurn her. And she didn't have to play the grand lady when he wasn't watching her. All in all, she was rather enjoying this visit, at least in comparison with his others--she knew he was in Atlanta and that was enough for her. With grim humor, she reflected that if she'd had such a handy form of escape from him and his coldness years ago, she would have availed herself of it. But of course, that wasn't completely true, either. After all--nobody owned her, and she was free to come and go as she pleased. She could have gone home to Tara any time, only she was always afraid she would miss one of his visits...

On the few occasions she felt guilt over her neglecting to be a good hostess, she reasoned that it wasn't as if he wanted to see _her_...

But Rhett wasn't as insensible to her absence as she imagined him to be. They still lived in the same house, whether Scarlett chose to be there or not. Even if he were completely indifferent he couldn't help but notice she was usually gone. Actually, he felt the lack of her presence acutely. Time seemed to weigh heavily on him--there was only so much he could do at the bank, no matter how busy he made himself look by pushing papers around. There were only so many business associates in town; only so many times he could dine with them at the Atlanta Hotel. Besides, the allure of gadding about was fading rapidly.

He even found he had less to talk about to Belle, old companion that she was, although that poor and faithful soul never complained to him about his lack of attention to her. Not that she would ever complain--she knew how precarious her own position was in Rhett's life and was unwilling to jeopardize it by acting the part of the jealous, shrewish other woman.

But he was dismayed to realize that the alterations he'd seen in his last two visits were nothing compared to the way things were now. All the old traditions of the mansion had undergone a sea change in his last absence. And until they were gone, he never realized he and Scarlett even had _traditions. _Traditions were for the Old Guard--not free thinkers like the Butlers. But it was clear to him now--as much as Scarlett had changed during their marriage, he had undergone his own changes. Without realizing it, he had largely conformed himself to Scarlett's ways--and this had been the routine of their marriage up until the death of Melanie Wilkes.

Before his marriage to Scarlett, he lived the freewheeling life of a confirmed bachelor--eating when and what he pleased, sleeping when he was tired, staying up all night carousing if he took it into his head to do so. But until now, he never realized what a civilizing influence Scarlett had been over him. Or if not Scarlett herself, then Mammy. Scarlett had brought that formidable old Negro woman with her into their marriage and under Mammy's efficient control, meals became regular occasions, with the china and silver presented just so, wholesome home-cooked food at the ready--to boot, all the quiet little rituals of a well managed house. Wade and Ella and Bonnie had bedtimes and wake-up times and life had a routine and regularity that his bachelor days had utterly lacked. And without his realizing it, he throve in that life--at least until Bonnie's death.

Rhett had brought Scarlett money and security, but Scarlett had brought Rhett stability.

After Mammy returned to Tara, Scarlett continued the routine of the mansion, up until recently. But now, without her at the helm anymore, Rhett saw all too plainly how quickly things were changing all around him.

Mealtimes, for instance. Suppertime at the Butler mansion quickly degenerated into chaos after Aunt Pittypat's stroke. Gone were the days when the china and silver were set out like clockwork. Gone were the meals with more than one course, where everybody sat down together to eat and converse. Scarlett frequently ate at Pittypat's house these days, and so did Ella. Or else they ate in the kitchen--picking at something that had been kept warm for them by the servants. Wade was too busy at work most days for regular meals. He often sent the secretary out for a sandwich to eat at the office, or else he came home late to eat in the kitchen or had Cookie make a tray for him which he would eat at his desk in his bedroom, surrounded by massive law books and loose papers kept in some order that only he could decipher. Other nights, less frequently, he was invited to dine at the Meades' by that girl who had him completely under her spell.

So Rhett did see Scarlett, but not often enough. He visited Aunt Pittypat one afternoon and she was there. Only this time she didn't leave Pittypat's side, and Rhett wasn't able to maneuver her alone. Then once day he drove by the store, just to catch a glimpse of her through the window. But it was humiliating to have to resort to such juvenile tricks, and he grew so angry he decided to confront Scarlett that very evening.

Somehow she beat him to it.

Scarlett came home that night around seven, and as she handed her hat to Prissy, Rhett came strolling out of the parlor, where he had been debating with himself whether to go to Belle's.

Scarlett didn't seem startled to see him, but she didn't look happy, either. Nevertheless, she gave him a tight smile and said," You haven't had a decent meal since you arrived here. Tomorrow night I'll have Cookie make a real supper and we'll all eat together in the dining room. If that suits you."

He was caught off guard by her suggestion, and truth to be told, it rather took the wind out of his sails that she preempted his complaint. Unable, now, to take her to task all full of righteous indignation, he could merely nod. Then Scarlett smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand.

"Oh no--I shouldn't have said that. Wade said he was expected at the Meades' tomorrow. Too bad. He did tell me this morning, but I forgot. Well, never mind. It will be you and Ella and me." Then she nodded to him gravely and plodded up the stairs.

Rhett looked forward to that supper all the next day.

Unfortunately, Scarlett had a trying day with Aunt Pitty. The old lady had been agitated and frantic for hours in her frustration over being unable to talk. She kept India, Scarlett and Ella busy trying to calm her, trying to understand her garbled "that-that-that" chatter. So when they were finally home and supper served on the fine china, silver and linens, it was clear that Scarlett, despite her sincere efforts to be an engaging and great Lady, was ready to sink with exhaustion. Ella, true to form, was able to keep up a constant stream of chatter, but Ella had youth and energy on her side. Rhett found himself almost pitying Scarlett as she made the valiant attempt to be hostess, when she could barely keep her eyes open. He had hoped for some time alone with her after supper, some time alone where he could test her and prod her and figure out just how deep these new changes went. But rather than keep her awake after the meal by persuading her to join him in the parlor, he told her he had to meet with friends in town. It wasn't true, nor did Scarlett believe it, but she nodded gratefully and climbed the stairs to her room with a tired wave and a mumbled, "G'night, Rhett".

By chance, he happened to see her again at breakfast the following morning. She was back to being dignified, greeted him accordingly, and apologized for the previous evening.

Rhett stared at her hard before speaking. "Scarlett, you're wearing yourself out nursing Pittypat."

"She needs me, Rhett," Scarlett answered with a shrug before she popped a forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth.

"She has other family."

Scarlett swallowed the eggs and looked away, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. Then she took a sip of her coffee and looked down at her plate. "Aunt Pittypat needs _me_."

That's when it dawned on Rhett--something that had been nagging at him since he returned to learn of Aunt Pittypat's illness. The change in Scarlett was deeper than the mere dissolution of her wonted routine. Scarlett was becoming a _Hamilton_ again. Seeing her in Aunt Pittypat's house, bustling about and making herself comfortably at home, it reminded him of the olden days of the War when he first came to really know her. And now she had gone full circle. After all, he met her at Twelve Oaks--the Wilkes' plantation--and cemented his friendship (for lack of a better word) with her under the chaperonage of Pittypat Hamilton, while Scarlett lived with her and Melanie. Her life and her fate, the very first time she met Rhett and even her eldest child were inextricably bound to that family, and it seemed she was coming home at last.

Rhett knew Scarlett would scoff at this suggestion if he told her. She saw herself as inalterably bound to Tara and the O'Haras. But Carreen was Sister Vincent Michael now, living in the cloister and dead to worldly concerns. And Suellen and Scarlett were never close friends; they were much too alike--selfish, demanding, and bullheaded women, Rhett thought with amusement. No, despite how Scarlett saw herself, Rhett could see she was more bound than ever to Charlie's family. And although he never aspired to be one of them (even though he was tied to them through the distant kinship of his marriage to Scarlett), for the first time in many years, he felt himself to be shut out. And set adrift. For who did he have, after all?

Well, there was his frail, elderly mother, for one. She loved him no matter what he did--he was always able to count on _her_. Then there was Rosemary. She loved him almost as much as Mother did, but she was busy with her own family and too much of a lady to be a confidant--especially for the type of confidences _he_ had to share. Then there was his paramour, Belle Watling. They had been through _much_ together, Heaven above knew, but he could never publicly acknowledge her.

Wade and Ella cared about him, certainly, but he couldn't help but feel they were only children, after all--he helped raise them, and they could never be his equals. And Scarlett was slipping away from him once again--not a willful choice on her part, not this time, but rather that the tide of life was carrying her away...

oOoOoOo

It was time for Albert to return to University, and he made no secret about his reluctance to be leaving. Ella accepted this reluctance to leave as a compliment to her, but her own feelings were much more ambivalent.

After his first flush of triumph, when it had seemed daring and defiant to kiss Ella (because he had _won_ her, after all) he hadn't tried to kiss her again. Not when they were alone in the parlor, not when they were alone in his buggy, or even in the twilight shadows when they were alone by chance at some party or other. And Ella, confused by this behavior, felt nearly driven to distraction.

_If I were beautiful like Camilla he wouldn't hesitate_, she would think gloomily. _I bet girls like Camilla are forever fending off liberties and unwanted attention_. And then she would feel herself torn, once again, in many directions--the desire to be a lady (she couldn't entirely abandon her upbringing); the desire to be loved passionately; and, most painful of all, the desire to be rid of the thought of the said Camilla.

Sometimes Ella thought there was something wrong with herself that she couldn't feel more happy. When she looked at her situation honestly and with the detachment of an outsider, she really couldn't fault Albert's attentiveness--he did everything _right_. He was a frequent caller at the mansion, several nights per week. He was engaging with the servants, friendly with her brother and deferential to Mother. Furthermore, he never seemed preoccupied when he was with her, but wrote her beautiful poetry, led her on the dance floor, took her hand or her arm when they were out together and in all other ways was a perfect suitor. But it wasn't quite enough for Ella. She wanted something more...more romance...more passion.

The subject of Frankie was never brought up between them. In fact, Ella sometimes wondered if Albert even remembered that whole interlude anymore, for he never referred to it, either directly or indirectly. But he never broached the subject of her saving her affections for only him, either.

So here they were on the evening before his departure, and they walked through the azalea garden, now bare of it's lovely flowers although the abundant green leaves remained. The garden, the still balmy air, and the darkening shadows were all ripe for romance and for once Albert rose to the occasion.

Well away from the glare of the light pouring from the windows of the house, he stopped their progress and took her hands. "You've made me so happy this summer, Ella," he whispered.

She lowered her eyes demurely, if a tad automatically. _This is it!_ she thought. _He's going to ask me for some understanding_. _He's going to ask me to wait for him_. But somehow she wasn't as excited as she thought she would be. She felt no dizziness at his touch, no heart-flutterings--actually, she felt quite matter-of-fact. Dismayed by this unwelcome realization, she rapidly tried to explain her lack of enthusiasm away. _I've been working very hard with Aunt Pitty, and then there's this relentless heat. I really do feel quite enervated. Yes, that's it--the heat is getting to me._

"I'll miss you when I'm gone," he said. "But it won't be so many weeks until Christmas holiday." Then he drew her arm through his and continued walking.

Ella walked alongside him, waiting for him to say something else. But as the seconds and minutes ground by, and he betrayed no inclination to resume his loverlike discourse, her confusion mounted. _What's happening? Does he want me to wait for him or not?_ She replayed his last words to her in her mind, searching for some indication of his intentions, but came up empty.

_Does he want me to wait? Obviously not. But then why did he say I made him happy? What's the matter with him that he won't speak up? What's the matter with __**me**__ that he won't speak up?_

Her brain was in complete tumult. Nothing tonight--no, nothing this whole summer--had gone the way she planned it--or had even gone the way she deemed romance was supposed to go. She chose him over Frankie because she cared about him more--that was the right thing to do, wasn't it?--and she thought Albert cared about her in return. But her choice had brought her precious little joy and despairingly she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

Ella glanced up at the sky. It was dark purple now and the time was slipping away. But she dreaded sending him to University with their situation so ambiguous. Feeling quite desperate, she cast about in her mind for a reason to detain him,

Sighing deeply, she suggested, "Why don't we go back and sit on the veranda?" And she nudged him in that direction. As they headed back to the house, her mind raced, considering and discarding various schemes to steer the conversation into the direction she wanted. They were almost within the light when she spoke. "Did you hear Betty Allen and Arthur Todd are courting?" She was nearly sick with disgust at her own use of this clumsy feminine tactic, but it the best she could think of. At least, she consoled herself, she'd kept her voice calm.

But he didn't seem to see through it. "Is that right?" He answered politely.

Feeling vaguely rebuffed, but refusing to give up, she added, "Yes. And Frances Dickenson and Thomas Bolling announced their engagement."

"Hm..." Again, he sounded polite, but not very interested. They were on the veranda now, and he held a chair for her to be seated before he took the chair next to her.

Ella waited for him to say more, and then when he didn't, she said, "How romantic it all is, isn't it?"

"Romantic? Oh yes, of course it is."

Sighing again. They must really be in love."

"Hm..."

Then he was quiet again. Ella waited and waited, but he seemed content to just sit like a lump (so she thought), staring into the now blackened garden.

"You're really going to be gone a long time," Ella hinted, then laughed nervously before she fell into silence. She couldn't say another word--sick as she was at her own tricks, it was an even worse mortification to realize her hints and tricks hadn't worked at all. At that moment she wished he'd just go home and leave her to her humiliation. She'd give him one more minute, she decided, then plead a headache. Then he'd have to leave and she could escape to her room...

Then, like an afterthought, Albert said, "Oh, would you like it if we waited for each other? Just say the word and I won't see any other girl while I'm gone."

At that moment, Ella forgot her own lack of enthusiasm from earlier in the evening when she thought he was going to declare himself. Instead, she grew indignant. What right did he have to be so blasé? He shouldn't be offering her his loyalty in such an offhand manner--he should be begging for favors and she should be dispensing them like a queen. Full of injured vanity, she thought, _Oh no, Mister Albert Whiting. You don't get Ella this easily. Would I like it? As if I would throw myself at a man! _ But she mastered her rage and tossed her head.

"Well now, I'm sure I don't see any reason for us to refuse all social contacts while you're so far away. After all, it will be four long months before you come back and all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, right? And besides, you may be invited to a dinner party and of course men and girls must be seated two by two like Noah's Ark. You wouldn't want to disappoint your poor future dinner partner, would you?"

"If you think it's best, Ella." And he lapsed into silence once more.

By this time Ella had a genuine headache. She remembered clearly the first day he called on her when his last term was over. He admitted he should have spoken about his feelings sooner. He confessed to poor judgment in leaving her alone and unattached. He gave every indication that he wanted her for himself alone. But now she realized that he not only never mentioned Frankie anymore, he also kept silent about the status of their own courtship.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples and proceeded to plead illness. Straightaway Albert left (without a kiss goodbye, although Ella would have slapped him if he'd tried), and she climbed upstairs to collapse onto her own bed. She didn't know what to think anymore. But she was slowly filling up with real resentment against Albert and his lack of forwardness. What had she done wrong? Why couldn't her courtship with Albert be simple and straightforward like, well--like Wade's and Marybeth's, for instance. To her mind, theirs was the perfect romance. He was not backward in showing his love for her, and she repaid his love in spades. Why couldn't Ella have that? Why were some people lucky enough to have uncomplicated romances and other people had to suffer for love?

**This is kind of a transitional arc before I can move forward with the storyline—just needed to clear some things up.**


	44. violet 5

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

"So Jenny said Frankie's been calling at Virgie's house, but Virgie won't accept him as a suitor because she's afraid it will hurt my feelings," said Ella as she adjusted the girth on Cinnamon, her roan mare.

Marybeth nodded. She was standing a few feet away, holding the reins on Dakota and waiting for her to finish. The paddock where they were talking was hot and dusty, but both girls were looking forward to a ride. "When was the last time you saw him?" she asked.

"Not since the Thespian fundraiser. Can you believe it? Of course, I've hardly been to any parties at all since Aunt Pitty got sick. I'm just too busy nowadays." Having satisfied herself that the girth was snug and safe, she straightened up and stroked the mare's neck.

"Do you miss it? The parties and sociables?" Marybeth asked curiously.

Ella took Cinnamon's reins and tugged her to follow. "Y'know, it's odd, but I don't. I feel so useful now, and I never felt useful before in my whole life. I never had any responsibilities before, you see. Even school was no hardship, because Mother didn't care if I learned anything or not, and neither did Uncle Rhett. Wade was different. They cared what marks he earned, but then again, Wade liked to study. So does Beau." She sniffed contemptuously. "The pair of them are such bookworms. They ought to go into the monastery where they can study all day long. Of course, if Wade did that, he'd have to jilt you, and I wouldn't like that at all."

Marybeth laughed as she guided Dakota behind Cinnamon. "I wouldn't like it, either. So my poor butterfly Ella is working hard and enjoying it."

Ella laughed, too. "I do enjoy it. But I'm hardly poor." She lowered her voice and became serious. "If anything, I'm dreadfully spoiled. Mother says she and my father barely had any money at all when I was born, but I don't remember it. Actually, as long as I can remember, I merely had to point at something and it was mine. But I'm not boasting, truly. In fact, sometimes I've felt really guilty--other people have to work very hard just to buy the things they need, let alone trinkets and luxuries. And it's not as if I'm a better person than they are, or more virtuous or more clever. It doesn't seem fair. So now I don't have to feel that I do nothing but sit around all day and take things."

If Ella had turned around at that moment, she would have seen Marybeth staring at her in some wonderment. Ella was rich, but not spoiled, Marybeth was thinking. _Spoiled_ was like Elsie Wellburn, always wanting what someone else had (and all too often getting her own way into the bargain, she thought resentfully--Marybeth still bore her a grudge for trying to take Wade away from her).

When they reached the far side of the paddock, Ella shaded her eyes and looked toward the house. "Wade told me at breakfast he thought he might be delayed at the office and to start without him. I don't see him coming."

Marybeth shrugged and then both girls mounted.

First they warmed up their horses, walk-trot-canter. Wade still hadn't arrived, so they discussed what they should do next.

"I guess we could start jumping," Marybeth suggested.

"Let's set the bars," Ella nodded.

They went over to the first fence and Ella put a large metal hook in one of the holes in the vertical pole as Marybeth put another hook into the one across from her. Then she glanced over to see what Ella was doing.

"No, Ella, put it lower. Into the 2 foot hole," Marybeth called across to her. Ella complied.

But as each girl took an end of the bar to set it into place, Ella asked, "Why don't you go higher than two feet yet? You've been riding for weeks, now."

Marybeth snorted. "Wade doesn't want me to."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Wade isn't here."

Marybeth shook her head. "It doesn't seem right. He doesn't want me to..."

"Honestly, Marybeth, he's not your lord and master. If you want to raise the bar, go ahead and do it."

Marybeth raised her hand in a deprecating gesture, but Ella was quick to notice her indecision. "I think you really want to try..." said Ella wheedlingly.

Marybeth grinned and bit her lower lip. "I do..."

"C'mon. We'll raise the bar together."

Excited and a little guilty, the two girls but the bar back on the dusty ground and pushed the metal hooks up higher into the poles before placing the bar across, to the forbidden two and a half feet. They hurriedly raised the bars on the three other jumps. Then they remounted and took turns jumping the course. Marybeth was on her second turn and had only taken the first jump when she saw Wade over by the fence. He was watching her with a solemn look on his face.

Marybeth's stomach clenched. She couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking, but she knew he wasn't pleased. Unfortunately, it was too late to do anything else but brazen it out. With an air of unconcern, she took the remaining jumps, paying extra attention to her technique, then trotted over to where he stood. She dismounted by herself, and still pretending not to notice his mood, asked carelessly, "Did you see how well Dakota did? She's a great little mare. I'm so sorry you weren't able to get away from work before now, but I'm afraid it's nearly time for me to be going. I'll turn Dakota out." She was aware she was babbling, but his expression unnerved her. She made as if to lead the mare to the stable.

Wade wasn't about to be gotten around. "I want to talk to you," he said as he walked beside her.

Marybeth swallowed hard and looked away from him, but she still spoke lightly. "Of course. Although I do have to go home soon. Edward and Christina will be up from their naps. I only had two hours today."

At that point, Ella ran up to her brother. "Wait! Stop, Wade!" She was a little breathless. "This wasn't Marybeth's fault. I told her to do it. She didn't want to, but I made her."

"I'm talking to Marybeth now," was all Wade's response.

"But you don't understand..." Ella persisted until she saw Marybeth shake her head at her. "I'm sorry," Ella whispered to the other girl as they continued their walk to the stable.

When they were finally out of range for anybody to hear he asked, "Why did you do that, after we agreed no high jumps?"

His voice was quiet and controlled, but his eyes flashed with anger and something else that she couldn't identify. Trying to appear calm and in control, she walked Dakota in front of her stall and reached up under the saddle to unbuckle it. "I didn't mean to make you angry, Wade. And it's not Ella's fault, either. But I really am ready to take jumps of that height."

"No..." He was implacable.

"And besides, Ella was with me."

"Ella! What does Ella know about teaching anybody how to ride? She doesn't have as much experience as I. She wouldn't recognize it if you were making some dangerous mistake. I _would_ recognize it--that's why I'm teaching you. Furthermore, she wouldn't know what to do if you hurt yourself, but I do."

He still had his voice under control. He wasn't speaking any louder than normal, but he had an intensity that frightened her. She swallowed her fear and turned away from him.

"And as you can see," she said as she hung the saddle up on it's post. "I didn't hurt myself. Doesn't that show you something?"

"Only that you were incredibly lucky."

"But it wasn't luck," she insisted. "Don't you understand? I knew just what to do." She removed the bridal and swished the bit in water, feeling grateful she had these little tasks to do. It gave her something to do with her hands, which would have been shaking, otherwise.

"No, you don't know. That's just it. There's still too much you don't know yet, and you haven't had enough practice. There are _reasons_ I don't let you take higher jumps." He now sounded quite vehement, but still he never got louder, and Marybeth found his very quietude frightening. Although she wouldn't want him to holler at her, she felt she could manage that better than this controlled rage. She took a deep breath, reached for a cloth to rub Dakota down, and was about to answer him, but then he asked, "How could you act so stupidly?"

Marybeth gasped, stung. She was aware of her own educational deficiencies, but she always consoled herself that she made it up with shrewdness and common sense. To be called stupid by Wade was more than she could bear.

"I'm _not_ stupid. How dare you call me _stupid_?" she said as she rubbed Dakota down. She was aware that unlike Wade's, her own voice had risen.

"Well, I don't know what else you'd call that performance I just saw," he retorted angrily.

Her hands were shaking worse as she finished Dakota and put her in her stall. She felt sick at her stomach, humiliated and shamed. "Oh, leave me alone," she hissed, angry at herself that she couldn't keep her voice steady. "I'm going home."

"Wait."

"What?" She answered, although she had already turned away.

"I'll drive you," he offered, quietly.

Her head whipped around and she stared at him incredulously for a moment. Then she drew herself up to her full height and raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't accept a buggy ride from you if you were the last man on Earth." And with that she turned on her heel and marched out.

oOoOoOo

In the time it took for Marybeth to wend her way home, her emotions ran the gamut from rage to chagrin to despair to numbness. _Why did I ever let Ella talk me into that stupid jump?_ She thought. _ I wish I never had that fight with Wade. I wish I had him back. Of course, I'm furious with him for calling me stupid. But I miss him anyway._

When she arrived home she called out a greeting to Mrs. Meade from the front door, then raced upstairs so she wouldn't have to face her and be asked how her afternoon went. She woke the little ones from their naps and took them outside to play with them in the yard. She was determined to finish out her day as if nothing had happened, and she tried to concentrate on nothing but the Meades' house, her children and the task at hand. But their prattle and games weren't enough to keep her mind off Wade. In spite of herself she replayed their fight over and over in her head until she was thoroughly miserable. By the time she saw Mrs. Meade come and sit on the porch, she felt so lonesome for company she went to sit with her.

Marybeth's distress seemed to go by unnoticed by Mrs. Meade. The two women talked about mundane things until Betsy came outside with some ears of corn for Marybeth to shuck. And while she was tearing the husk off the corn, she happened to notice a mosquito hovering just above the table. She slapped at it with a satisfying smack. In fact, it felt so good to release her feelings, she slapped at it two more times, wiped her hand on her apron and sat back against the chair with a frown.

"One slap would have sufficed," Mrs. Meade observed mildly.

Betsy looked sharply at Marybeth, then pronounced, "I bet she done had a fight wid Mist' Wade."

"Oh!" Mrs. Meade exclaimed. "Is that true, dear?"

Marybeth nodded grimly

"Oh well, these little lovers' quarrels never last long and rarely amount to a hill of beans. Don't you worry your head over it."

But Marybeth refused to be comforted--she was back to being mad. "He said I was stupid."

"_Wade_ said that? That doesn't sound like him at all. What happened?"

"I raised the bar for Dakota and he caught me."

Mrs. Meade and Betsy exchanged a glance.

"Just the same, don't fret over it," Mrs. Meade urged. "Maybe in a day or two when you've both had time to calm down..." At that the front doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Marybeth mumbled as she rose quickly. She knew Mrs. Meade meant well, but she thought if she had to listen to one more platitude she would scream.

When she opened the door, it was Ella.

"Oh please, Marybeth," Ella grabbed her arm, looking desperate. "You left so quickly I didn't have a chance to talk to you. Please forgive Wade for getting angry with you--whatever he said, I'm sure he didn't mean it." She looked so earnest and pleading that Marybeth slipped her arm through hers and led her to the parlor.

"Ella, you shouldn't be here apologizing for your brother. If Wade has something to say to me he can tell me himself."

"He will. I mean, he _is_ coming to apologize. But I need to talk to you before he does."

"Oh?" Marybeth said haughtily. "How do you know he's coming over? Did he discuss it with you?"

"Of course not. The only person he confides in is Beau. And you. But I know my brother--and besides, you should see him, he's miserable."

"Good," was the grim reply.

"Marybeth, please. I know you're angry with him. But it's my fault, too. I should have never encouraged you to raise the bar."

"It was my own choice. You only suggested it. I could have said no."

"But I don't think you knew the whole reason Wade was so worried for you. Did he ever tell you about Bonnie?"

"No...I don't think so. Bonnie who?"

"Bonnie Butler. Our sister."

oOoOoOo

Half an hour after Ella's visit, Marybeth--with Mrs. Meade's permission--hurried back to the mansion to find Wade. Normally, Mrs. Meade would never have allowed her to go running after a man, but even that indomitable woman could see that this circumstance was clearly a special case. She inquired at the front door and was informed by Prissy that Wade was in the stable. She nearly ran through the back yard, and arrived breathless in the wide stable doorway.

Wade was alone, no longer wearing coat, waistcoat, or hat. He had his shirtsleeves rolled up and was mucking the stable himself, having dismissed Wash for the day. He had hoped intense physical exertion would help him clear his mind--it usually did--but he'd been at the task ever since Marybeth stomped off for home, and still his thoughts were roiling.

He shocked himself with the depth of his feelings--he never dreamed he could be so angry with her. Of course, _she_ was clearly in the wrong here--any right-minded person could see that. All the same, he regretted bitterly that he'd been so harsh with her. Only--only it had terrified him to see her taking that jump, especially without him there to supervise. And she grew so angry with him in return...

He thought he'd gladly give anything if only the afternoon had turned out differently. It pained him to be at odds with Marybeth like this and he would have to mend fences with her, surely. Pain, regret, fear, anger--all these emotions were fighting for possession of his mind. But uppermost was the conviction that he had to talk to her, make things right if he could, convince her to forgive him. If only he could pull his thoughts together and _think _of what to say.

"Wade?"

He turned at the sound of that beloved voice calling his name. She had paused in the doorway, then walked slowly towards him.

He put the pitchfork against the wall, wiped his arm across his forehead and ran to meet her halfway and took her hands. "Marybeth, I..."

"No, let me go first," she pleaded. "Ella told me all about Bonnie. I never knew about you having another sister. I'm so sorry."

"Ella told you? When did Ella tell you--?"

"Just now--a half hour ago. But don't scold her. She wasn't trying to interfere."

Wade shook his head. "I won't. But earlier--when I saw you taking that jump--I overreacted. I couldn't bear to think that you could suffer Bonnie's fate. And at the risk of bringing up our quarrel again, I never said you were stupid. I said what you did was stupid. And even for that I apologize."

Marybeth shook her head impatiently, but her eyes were full of compassion. "Your poor mother and Captain Butler--I can't imagine how tragic it was for them. And how tragic for you and Ella, too--it must have been awful for you both to lose her."

Wade looked at her strangely for a moment before he spoke. "Is that what you think? That I was grief-stricken for Bonnie? Well, I'm ashamed to say it, but at the time of the funeral, all I cared about was that it meant we could spend extra time at Aunt Melly's house. I was a terribly selfish little pup, I'm afraid. It wasn't until some time had passed that I fully realized just how tragic it was."

Her hand still in his, he went and sat on a hay bale and drew her down next to him. "You know that Beau and I are cousins--the Wilkes' and Hamiltons are related. What you have to understand is that Hamiltons and Wilkes' all believe in family loyalty--it's practically our creed. And for good reason--the only way we can survive in this world is to band together. And although there are fights and rivalries among us, to the outside world we present a united front." He looked in her eyes laughed a little. "You're being very polite, but I can see you wondering what I mean by all this preamble.

"I would never tell this to anybody else, but I think you should know--I mean, we have an understanding, don't we dearest? Besides, you really should know about this before you pledge yourself to me." He looked down at her hand and ran his thumb over her fingers for a moment before he looked her full in the face. "My family is rather different than other families. And it's more than just my mother's running a business. She and Uncle Rhett..." he struggled for a delicate way to phrase it. "Well, they're practically separated now. They've been estranged since Bonnie died. But when I was a little boy, and they were first married, they both scandalized Atlanta with the crowd they ran with, and the wild parties. Even before that, during the War years he was a speculator and Mother stopped wearing black for my father too soon--at least, this is the part I know. The town eventually forgave Uncle Rhett--he's rather a sympathetic person now, but Mother is a different case..." He flushed then. "I've often thought that things would be different for all of us if Bonnie had only lived. Perhaps Uncle Rhett would spend more time here in Atlanta and he and Mother would be happy together...Please understand--not for the world would I speak ill of my family, but with you..." And he shrugged.

Marybeth turned quickly and placed her arms around his neck and whispered, "I understand everything now that you've told me. Oh, Wade, if I had only known."

He took her face in his hands gently and spoke seriously. "But Marybeth, you do trust me, don't you? You do believe I would never do anything that could hurt you? Or put you in peril?"

"I do, Wade, truly"

"But you're so spirited. You hide it well most of the time, but sometimes it just slips out, doesn't it? It's as if a veil pushes aside and somebody else is there--somebody who sets all ladylike reserve at naught--I've seen it when you ride..."

But Marybeth wasn't interested in analyzing her own personality at that moment. Grateful and relieved that she and Wade were no longer quarreling, aching with tenderness over the tragedy of Bonnie's untimely death, she slid half onto his lap and kissed him full on the mouth. She was pleased when his arms tightened around her, pressing her to him, but it lasted only a moment before he put her on her feet and stood up.

"I shouldn't let you do that," he said. "I'm filthy from mucking the stalls, and now you'll be filthy too. Everybody will guess you've been sitting in the stable boy's lap."

She looked at him and grinned. His hair was tousled, shirt buttons half undone, and he was covered with dust and bits of straw. He looked a mess, but Marybeth found him just as appealing this way as when he was carefully groomed, as she was used to seeing him. "Pooh. As if I care about that," and she started to throw herself back in his lap.

Wade grabbed her wrists and stood up quickly, preventing her. "Mrs. Meade will care," he said wickedly.

Marybeth put her nose in the air. "No she won't. She approves of you. And besides--I'm sure she used to sit on Dr. Meade's lap back when they were courting."

And they laughed together, happy that harmony was restored.

**Coming up—Wade and Marybeth make a life-changing decision and Rhett is not pleased. Ella sinks into depression and Scarlett…**


	45. violet 6

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Rhett left Atlanta soon afterward, giving Scarlett no more warning than his sudden appearance in the doorway of Aunt Pittypat's bedroom. Scarlett knew immediately from his choice of clothes that he intended to leave her once more. And as always, his leave-takings made her long to sob and cry--as she always did--right after he left. But she had no such luxury this time--she was alone in the house with the invalid because India had gone out to do some marketing and Ella was spending the afternoon at Jenny's. And stunned at the suddenness of his departure, saddened but striving to hide it, she followed him out to the porch to say her goodbyes.

He took her hand nonchalantly and said, "Until the next time, Scarlett."

She felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Unable to speak, she could only nod.

Rhett stared at her closely. "Is something the matter?"

_Yes, there is something the matter_, she thought. _Something the matter with __**me**__--I've turned wishy-washy_. Over the last couple weeks she used every expedient to avoid him--and complimented herself on her cleverness for doing so--but nevertheless, she had been pleased he was in Atlanta. She was afraid to be alone with him, but now when he was leaving, she regretted she'd been so silly. She wished she hadn't been so afraid--she wished he wouldn't go. Automatically there rose the old, familiar pain. _Rhett's leaving._ But, just as automatically, she remembered her pride. Raising her chin, she said, "No." But she couldn't meet his eyes.

He touched the brim of his hat. "Farewell, Mrs. Butler." And he turned on his heel and left.

When his carriage pulled away, and Rhett was sure she couldn't see him, he glanced at her through the back window, hoping she was still on the porch. She was--she had turned to head towards the house and he couldn't see her face through the foliage around the porch, but he still caught a last glimpse of her--posture erect as always, skirts swishing. He sank back onto the seat cushions, closed his eyes, felt the carriage turn the corner, then peered out again through the side window, but she had already disappeared into the house. Finally he rested back against the cushions for good, cursing himself for his weakness in wanting--no, needing--to look at her once more.

oOoOoOo

A full week had passed since Albert's departure, and now it was Beau Wilkes who had to return to University. Wade and Ella invited him to supper at the mansion, and Marybeth was invited, too. Beau no longer objected to Marybeth's inclusion in their intimate circle. Over the summer, not only had he grown used to her, he had learned an advantage to having her around--her presence meant that when she had Wade occupied, it gave him more time to converse privately with Ella.

After supper they spent the evening at the piano, playing favorite songs, reminiscing over the summer that had just passed. A couple times, Beau thought Ella seemed a little sad, but whenever she saw him look at her, she'd smile and her sparkle would return for a few minutes.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and Beau was left alone with Ella at the end of the evening while Wade drove Marybeth home.

They stood together at the front gate, saying the usual, mundane goodbyes peculiar to those who have enjoyed a long and comfortable friendship, when suddenly Beau spoke. "What's the matter with you tonight Ella? Have I done something to offend you?"

She smiled kindly at him. "Of course not. How could _you_ offend me? You know I would come right out and tell you if you made me angry or sad."

"Don't try to tell _me _you're not sad. You've been moping around all night. I saw you."

She smiled up at him in the semidarkness. "Now, Beau. Don't you fret about me. Besides, you _must_ know I'm not happy to be losing you to University for three whole months."

"Ella!"

"I'm going to miss our conversations and you'll be gone away for so long..."

"I'll try to come back as many weekends as I can."

"I know. But I'll still miss you."

"Aww..." Beau reddened a little, and he was thankful that the gaslight dimmed his face.

"And of course, with Albert gone, too..." she trailed off, unable to speak from the despondency that overwhelmed her. "I wish...Oh I wish everything didn't have to change..." Her voice broke and she brought her hands to her mouth, afraid she was about to sob outright.

"I don't understand you," Beau asked, puzzled. "What has to change?"

She took a deep breath that sounded like a gasp and tried to regain control of herself, but the more she tried to force herself to talk, the bigger the lump in her throat grew. Finally she gave up--not wanting to cause a scene or make him worry about her, she hugged him fiercely and ran back into the house, leaving him to look helplessly after her.

And if her original intention was to reassure him that she was fine, she failed. Beau could not be entirely easy in his mind for many days afterward--not until he received a sunny letter from her, filled with harmless gossip and cheerful lies about her state of mind.

As for Ella, she began to fade almost immediately after that night. Three of the most important men in her life were now gone--Uncle Rhett, then Albert, then Beau. Of course, she still had Wade, but she felt no temptation to confide in him. She was sure he was too happy with Marybeth to understand her unhappiness with Albert.

In consequence of her unspoken sadness, she grew dull and listless and quiet. Scarlett noticed the change in her, but at first she attributed it to Ella's missing Albert and didn't press for details or confidences. Her friends noticed, and they also tried to divert her, but they, like Scarlett, attributed her mood to missing Albert, and weren't too discouraged that they couldn't cheer her up. They didn't expect her to cheer up_ right away_--in fact, quite the opposite--too much jocularity so soon after his departure would have been unseemly.

But a couple weeks went past and it became obvious that Ella wasn't bouncing back like she should. She began to decline invitations and her social life shrunk to receiving those friends who called on her, and dragging herself between Aunt Pittypat's and home.

Ella longed to talk to somebody about what was ailing her, but she wasn't even entirely sure, herself, what it was. Except that life seemed so confusing. Albert's strange way of treating her, at one moment loverlike, at the other moment possessive, then at still another moment as if she were no more than a favored friend. And she couldn't think about Albert without thinking about Camilla. She ruminated over this one theme night and day until she believed she'd worn a groove in her brain from so much thinking. Much more of this, she thought darkly, and she'd go mad.

oOoOoOo

One day, on a rare occasion that Scarlett was home in the afternoon, she stared through the mullioned windows in her office until she longed to be outside in the beautiful sunshine and feel its warmth on her skin. She was lonely--Ella was such dull company these days, and Wade was never home anymore. Even her dog had abandoned her, she thought sullenly. For once, Atlas wasn't haunting her footsteps. Well, she'd just find him and take him out for a walk. She searched the mansion for her pet, but didn't find him until she went outside.

Ella had him. They were sitting on the lawn, her one arm hung limply over his shoulders and she was leaning against him slightly for support, for he was nearly fully grown now and strong enough to bear her weight. He sat and waited patiently, tongue hanging out, while she drew languid circles in the grass with a stick. But her attitude--slumped shoulders, drooping head--was so thoroughly dejected Scarlett felt a cold fear. Ella wasn't getting over Albert like she should--after all, several weeks had passed since he left. Then and there, Scarlett decided she wouldn't just let Ella sink any deeper into this despondency.

She marched over to where her daughter sat, and lowered herself onto the ground next to her, groaning inwardly at the thought of the grass stains that would most definitely mar her skirt.

"You mustn't take on this way, Ella," Scarlett declared.

Ella glanced up and smiled weakly. "Oh. Hello, Mother."

Scarlett put a hand under her girl's chin and lifted it. "Your Albert's a fine young man, but nobody's worth getting this sad over."

Ella thought about how Mother had been turning herself inside out for so many years trying to please Uncle Rhett, but wisely said nothing.

Scarlett's voice softened. "I'm worried about you, precious."

Ella's eyes widened slightly at the unfamiliar endearment coming from Scarlett. She sighed, straightened up a little, and said, "Don't worry about me Mother, don't worry. I'll be fine, I'm just..." And with that, she burst into noisy, sobbing tears. "No..." she said between gasps. "...I'm not fine...I'm so unhappy...I don't..." she rummaged in her pocket, "...even know what's wrong with me." She found her handkerchief and pressed it to her face. "I wish I could be happy again...But it's been so long since I've been truly happy, that I'm afraid I never sh-sh-shall a-a-again!" she wailed, followed by more incoherent tears, exclamations, and hiccups.

Scarlett was alarmed at this outburst and put her arms around the sobbing girl and waited until Ella had cried herself out. But when her sobbing subsided to occasional sniffles, Scarlett said, "You're taking on entirely too much over this. It's not healthy. I'm making an appointment for you to see the doctor."

Ella's startled protests were to no avail. The next day, Scarlett dragged unwilling Ella to Dr. Meade.

He looked in her eyes and down her throat, listened to her heart and felt her glands. Then he asked, "How long has it been since young Mr. Whiting left for University? A couple weeks?" Ella nodded. Then he turned to Scarlett. "This young lady is no more than lovesick. But girls have been known to decline from lovesickness. I'll prescribe a tonic that'll do her good."

At hearing the tonic prescribed, Ella shot Scarlett a look that was remarkable for it's lack of filial respect.

At home, Scarlett dutifully administered the tonic to Ella every day as Dr. Meade ordered and then she waited. But she could see no change in her daughter, other than that Ella seemed to be avoiding her and the tonic bottle now. A week later, over even more strenuous protests, Scarlett dragged her back to the office.

This time they saw Dr. Grant, and his ideas were newer, more modern.

"How much sleep do you take at night?" He asked.

Ella sat on the examination table, arms crossed in front of her, and looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Eight hours, maybe nine."

"Hmm... Are you overindulging in sweets? Forgetting to eat your meat and vegetables?"

"No, she barely eats at all," Scarlett interjected from her chair in the corner of the room.

Ella waved off her mother. "I eat, Dr. Grant. I even had a whole slice of cake for dessert last night at Aunt Pitty's."

Dr. Grant's eyes narrowed. "I see. How often do you care for Miss Hamilton?"

"I'm there every day for several hours."

Scarlett interrupted again. "See? I knew you would wear yourself out, Ella."

"I'm not wearing myself out, Mother," Ella snapped.

"How _dare_ you take that tone with me when we're all just trying to help _you_."

Ella threw her hands in the air. "You'd help me a lot more if you just left me alone!"

"Ladies!" Dr. Grant thundered, making both women turn and stare at him. "There will be no bickering in my office. I am not running a henhouse here." His voice was stern, although the look he gave Ella was compassionate. "I'll tell you my diagnosis. It's the same as Dr. Meade's--you're pining for your beau. But my prescription is rather different. What kind of exercise do you take?"

"I walk to Aunt Pittypat's and home, and other places, too."

"Precious few other places," Scarlett muttered and Ella shot her another look.

Dr. Grant spoke before another quarrel could break out. "Do you own a horse or a bicycle or tricycle?"

"Yes--a horse."

The doctor nodded and folded his arms. "I used to see this sort of thing a lot when I practiced in Philadelphia--factory workers and domestics suffering from the lack of sunlight and fresh air. I won't lie to you, Ma'am. Your daughter is declining. She's been taking poor care of herself and torturing herself with her own imagination. Aren't I right, Miss Kennedy?"

Ella nodded dumbly, and Scarlett made as if to speak, but Dr. Grant spoke first. "I'm not saying that hard work is bad for young people, Mrs. Butler--just the opposite is true. But she also needs leisure, recreation, preferably out-of-doors. So listen up, and listen good, because I'm directing this at both of you. I want Ella to get outside into the fresh air and sunshine every day. _Every day_. Mother, I expect you to enforce this. She is to exercise--either ride that horse, or play croquet or tennis or whatever genteel young ladies do for fun in these parts. And don't come back inside for at least a half hour. But I'd prefer you to enjoy all the benefits of sunshine you can and stay out for hours on end. I don't think I can expect that, from the way you're looking at me--but at least a half an hour."

"I can still help with Aunt Pitty, can't I?" Ella implored.

"Of course you can," he replied. "But Miss Hamilton cannot be your entire social life, either. And if I hear you've disobeyed Doctor's orders, I'll have Mrs. Butler bring you back and I'll prescribe a tonic ten times worse than anything Dr. Meade has ever even dreamed of. And I'll stand here and make you drink it."

Ella glared at him angrily, ready to retort, until she saw he was grinning at her. Reluctantly, she grinned back at him.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Miss Kennedy, believe me when I tell you your complaint is the oldest in the book. Everybody in the world has felt lovelorn one time or another. But you're a strong girl. I don't want to see you sinking any deeper into melancholy, and you don't have to. Everybody cares about you, even if it seems like they're all siding against you."

"I know," Ella said meekly. "And I'll do what you said."

And so Ella did. Without any threats from Scarlett, Ella started going outside every day to ride Cinnamon, and to the relief of her friends and her mother, her spirits seemed to lift. At least, she was no longer so despondent. But it was nearly Christmas before she recovered all of her former vivacity.

**Coming up-Wade and Marybeth make a life-changing decision and Rhett is not pleased. And BTW, Ella's recovery is not quite as miraculous as it seems…**


	46. violet 7

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

On a rainy and chilly Saturday afternoon in early December, Wade tapped on Scarlett's open door before entering her office. "Mother, may I speak with you? It's important."

Scarlett looked up at Wade. He was lowering himself into the chair by her

desk, and his face was full of suppressed delight. Scarlett thought she had a good idea of what he was about to tell her--after all, Christmas was coming up soon. She nodded.

"Mother, I'm going to marry Marybeth."

Scarlett wasn't surprised by this announcement, but that didn't prevent her from feeling happy on his account. "Oh, Wade, how wonderful. Congratulations. So she said yes?"

He looked at her in some confusion before he laughed outright. "I shouldn't have phrased it that way. I suppose it's customary to actually ask the bride before one makes the announcement. No. I'm going to ask her on Christmas day."

"What will she say?"

"_Yes_. At least I hope she does." He laughed again. "We've had an understanding for some time, so unless I'm seriously mistaken about her intentions, I expect her to say _yes_."

Scarlett sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "I expect she'll accept your proposal. My one regret for you, Wade, is that I don't have any family jewelry for you to give her. Your father gave me a beautiful sapphire ring as his betrothal gift, but those dirty Yankees took it when they came through Tara...And I donated my wedding ring during the War when they needed gold and jewelry to sell for army supplies."

"Don't worry about it, Mother. I never even thought about that. I just came from the jeweler's, in fact. Her ring will be ready before Christmas."

Scarlett held up her left hand to display her own engagement ring and at the same time raised an eyebrow at her son. "Hopefully not as big as this."

Wade shook his head and laughed, blushing. He didn't want to insult Mother's or Uncle Rhett's judgment, but to his own masculine--and admittedly unformed--taste, it was a ridiculous ring.

Scarlett laughed too, and sat back in her own chair, folding her hands over her stomach as she took a good look at Wade. If Marybeth came with no other recommendation, she had to give the girl credit for pulling him out of his shell. He was sitting back easily in the chair, slouching a little--Wade slouching!--his hands shoved into his pockets, one ankle crossed negligently over the other knee. He looked joyful and carefree--Elsie never made him look like that. Scarlett felt a little twinge of envy. There seemed to be nothing to stand in the way of happiness for him and his intended, and she knew she'd never felt the type of sweet and uncomplicated love that Wade found. And she never would, either--her own life had been too torturous and convoluted...

Suddenly she remembered something and sat straight up. "There is one thing you should have--I don't know why I didn't remember this sooner. Come on." She stood up and motioned for him to follow her.

They went into her bedroom, and she had him drag a chair into the spacious closet. As she gathered her skirts to climb up onto it, he tried to prevent her.

"Just tell me where it is and I'll get it," he offered.

"Wade Hampton, I'm not too decrepit to rummage through my own closet,"

Scarlett snapped. "But give me your hand, just the same."

He handed her up onto the chair and watched as she reached up to the highest shelf and pushed the boxes and baskets aside. Finally, tottering on her very tiptoes, she found a dusty, paper-wrapped parcel that she brandished triumphantly before having him help her step down to the floor.

"This," said Scarlett dramatically as she brushed the dust off, "is your father's picture."

"My father's picture!" Exclaimed Wade. "But I haven't seen it since Aunt Melly died."

Scarlett blew more dust off the package then handed it to him. "Wade, I can only say I'm sorry. It came to me after she died and I always meant to give it to you. Just like you have the sword. But I couldn't bear to look at it because it belonged to her, you see. And I stuffed it away, meaning to give it to you later. Maybe when you got older or something. But then I forgot. Just plumb forgot. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course." Wade was untying the string and tearing off the wrapper. When the picture was uncovered, he looked at it for some time, nodding a little bit to himself.

Scarlett inched next to him and tilted a corner of the frame downward so she could look at it too. She shook her head slowly as she perused the picture. How little had she known Charlie! Most of what she knew about him she'd learned after his death. Before their marriage he'd not made much of an impression on her--he was too shy and tongue-tied. And after they married, their enforced intimacy hadn't endeared him to her. She glanced up at Wade. No, there was no denying Wade Hampton was the son of the soldier in this picture. But India was wrong, too. Wade wasn't the spitting image of Charlie. They had the same curling brown hair, the same mild brown eyes. But Wade seemed to have an inborn gravity to him, a seriousness of purpose she couldn't recall Charlie having. Sometimes she wondered where his personality came from. She never knew Charlie's parents, but at times his serious disposition reminded her of Ellen. However, he lacked the confidence Ellen had, the confidence that came from successfully running a plantation of over one hundred persons.

But in recent months she'd come to question just how innate Wade's seriousness was. He laughed and smiled much more easily nowadays, and between his success at work and Marybeth's unabashed admiration, he'd become much more self-confident, too.

Scarlett found herself wishing she knew this only son of hers better. There was much more to his personality than she ever bothered to try to find out. And he wasn't the type of person to force his presence where he didn't find a warm welcome. Of course, she hastened to remind herself, she had to work so hard during his childhood and she didn't have time to play with him. Or the inclination, either. But she felt a pang of regret.

Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, because she broke out of her reverie as Wade asked, "What's the matter, mother?"

She shook her head as if to clear it. "I can't believe you're all grown up, finding a bride. Where did the time go?--I always laughed when the old people said that. But then again, your mother's an old woman now, Wade."

Wade laughed. "You could put the twenty year old's to shame," he said gallantly. "Thank you for saving the picture for me. Do I look just like my father? I don't think so, but folks are always saying I do."

Scarlett nodded. "Very much like, but not exactly. Don't forget, you're half an O'Hara."

"Nivver mind, mither--I won't be fergettin' it," He aped a flawless brogue.

"Why Wade," Scarlett gasped, laughing. "You're just full of surprises today!"

He grinned and shrugged, then became pensive. "Were you and Father very much in love?"

Scarlett looked at him, trying to gauge the seriousness of this question. "Yes, there was much love between us," she answered evasively. Wade didn't need to know that all the love in her first marriage had come from Charlie and not her. "But I also have to confess, looking back now, I'm not sure that what I had to give at 16 was worth much. And then we only had about a week of married life before he went away to the army. And you also have to realize how different things were at that time--the War was all anybody thought about."

Wade tucked the picture under his arm, and crumpled the brown paper wrapper between his hands, preparatory to throwing it away. "Marybeth's a great girl. I only hope I can be worthy of her."

Scarlett patted him reassuringly. "I've seen the way she looks at you, and she doesn't try to hide her feelings. She's probably hoping she's worthy enough of _you_."

And for once she hit the nail precisely on the head.

oOoOoOo

Scarlett was at the store a week later, checking off inventory, when Rhett burst into the back room. "Rhett!" She shrieked and dropped her clipboard. "You scared the living daylights out of me!"

"You should pay better attention to your surroundings, then," he answered curtly.

"Well..." she stammered, "It's...good to have you back," she said weakly.

"Scarlett, sit down."

Rhett was more agitated than she could remember seeing him in a very long time, and in wonderment, she perched herself on the stool by the desk to watch him pace back and forth.

He spoke abruptly. "Wade's getting himself engaged to that--Marybeth."

"Yes, I've known for a week. How did you--?"

"He wrote me. He's pleased as punch, too. How could you let this happen?" Rhett flung at her.

"I? What did I do?"

"You should have stopped him--you should have told him not to throw himself away on a servant of unknown antecedents."

"But Wade doesn't think he's throwing himself away."

He looked at her ironically. "Of course he doesn't--he's not exactly thinking with his _brain_ right now. If he were, he'd realize he could do much better."

"Well now," Scarlett said slowly, "I'm not so sure about that. She loves him, you know. And he's never shown any interest in any other girl besides Elsie Wellburn and I _don't_ want him marrying into that clan."

"The Elsings aren't that bad--they're an old family and they--"

"--And they're snobbish and small-minded and haven't learned to fit into modern times. They still cling to the old ways and they all depend on Hugh to support the whole family--did you know that? Every last one of them relies on Hugh for their sustenance. No. I don't want him marrying her."

"Fine. Not Elsie. However, Wade's only twenty-three--there are plenty of other girls out there, he just hasn't met them yet."

"But he loves Marybeth."

Rhett continued to pace, then he slowed down and furrowed his brow, thinking. "Fine. He doesn't have to give up Marybeth if he's determined to have her. But he doesn't have to marry her, either."

"What are you suggesting?" Scarlett asked warily. She didn't like the cunning look on Rhett's face.

"He could move her to another city where nobody knows her, set her up in a house of her own and keep her as his mistress. Then he would be free to marry somebody better suited to his station in life."

Scarlett blinked as she tried to comprehend what he just said to her. She'd heard--and enjoyed--plenty of coarse and ribald stories from him, but they were always about people she didn't know, or people she didn't really care about. But this--this was different. He was talking about her son now. Her son, who she was just beginning to really enjoy and to see as a separate person in his own right. Not to mention Wade was innocent and a little naive. Then she imagined him turning into another Rhett. And in spite of herself, she shuddered. "She won't agree," said Scarlett firmly.

"If she loves him that much, she will."

Scarlett shook her head pleadingly. "Rhett, no. Did you know that he takes her to church? She's not that kind of girl. She won't do it. And besides, Wade may not take kindly to the implication that she_ is_ that kind of girl."

Rhett frowned, leaned his elbow on her desk and put his chin in his hand. He hated to admit it, but there was sense in what Scarlett said. Wade would likely jump to the defense of his lady-fair. Then he straightened up. "I'll concede your point. I won't say a word to him."

Scarlett slid off the stool. "Will you reconcile yourself to this marriage?"

"As I said, I won't say a word to _him_."

oOoOoOo

After he came into possession of the ring, Wade went to Dr. Meade's office to speak to him privately.

"I want to declare my intentions," Wade stated as he sat down in the chair Dr. Meade indicated for him. "I'm here because I want to marry Marybeth Dandridge."

"Have you asked _her _yet?" Dr. Meade asked, perplexed.

"We've talked about it, and it won't be any surprise to her when I do, but no, I haven't proposed to her formally. I thought it would be proper to talk to you first, since she's part of your household."

"That's very considerate of you, son, but Dandridge is an independent young lady. She can make her own decisions."

"Yes, I know, but she doesn't have family. And she esteems you as much as family."

Dr. Meade smiled. "I can only give my approval. It's not up to Mrs. Meade and me to give permission. Dandridge is quite free to work for us or leave, as she wishes. But as an interested friend, I want to see her well taken care of and happy."

"Dr. Meade," Wade said, all earnest seriousness, "if she agrees to marry me, I promise she'll never regret it."

"Then you have my approval." They shook hands.

Wade passed Dr. Grant as he was seeing himself out the front door, and the two men nodded to each other.

"What is it, Dr. Meade?" Dr. Grant asked when Wade had gone. "Has Miss Hamilton taken a turn for the worse? Or is it Miss Kennedy? I really hope not--I just talked to her in the store yesterday and she was looking fresh and pink-cheeked."

"Neither," said Dr. Meade, shaking his head slowly. "It's the most extraordinary thing, Andrew. Young Mr. Hamilton came to ask _me_ for Dandridge's hand in marriage." Then he bent over the appointment book, squinting as he peered at Miss James' tiny handwriting.

A pause. Then the younger man said, "Oh...I don't know. I don't think there's anything extraordinary about somebody wanting Miss Marybeth's hand in marriage."

Dr. Meade looked at him sharply--he hadn't forgotten Mrs. Meade's suspicions that his partner entertained tender feelings for the girl--but Dr. Grant's face was as open and bland as a baby's.

oOoOoOo

The conversation with Wade served to satisfy Dr. Meade as to his intentions towards Dandridge, but he still wanted to talk to the girl. However, in the interest of marital comfort, he knew he had to discuss the situation with Mrs. Meade first of all.

They were getting ready for bed that very night when he relayed his conversation with Wade to her . Mrs. Meade's face lit up immediately.

"He asked _you_ for her hand?" She exclaimed, clasping her own together in joy. "Well, don't that beat all. I declare, I don't know how Wade Hampton can be his mother's son. Scarlett never cared a lick what people think or what looks right but Wade...the Hamilton really shows in him. Well, never mind about that. There are a million things to be done for this wedding."

"You're forgetting one little detail, Mrs. Meade. He hasn't asked _her_ yet."

Mrs. Meade waved impatiently. "Just a detail, Doctor. Just a minor detail."

Dr. Meade knew better than to argue. "There's something else, something I want to discuss with you. It worries me that she has no money of her own."

She slipped into bed, pulling the blanket up under her arms and settling back against the feather mattress with a sigh. "You don't imagine she's marrying him for his money, surely."

He climbed in next to her and extinguished the lamp. "No. In fact, I don't think the difference in their monetary situations has crossed either of their minds..."

"...but someday, after the honeymoon blush is over..." She prompted--years of marriage made her almost able to read his mind.

"...she may feel it keenly that she came to him with nothing more than the clothes on her back."

They lay in silence, each feeling the other's thoughts.

"Of course," Dr. Meade continued. "Wade adores her. And he's a gentleman. He would never throw that up to her, even if drunk, or in anger."

Mrs. Meade shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Marybeth is sensitive. She would feel it."

"Well, that leads up to that matter I mentioned earlier. We don't have any heirs or even close relatives. We don't have a lot of money, but what we do have, I'd like to leave to her. If that plan meets with your approval, Mrs. Meade?"

That worthy lady gasped, and grabbed his hand in the dark. "Does it? Of course it does! Oh doctor, how many times I've wished we could adopt her--if only she weren't too old. But this is just as good. She can be our heir."

"As I said, it's not a lot of money. Just the bit we've put aside, the house, Betsy and Old Talbot, and a little revenue from my share in the practice."

"You must arrange it, right away," Mrs. Meade urged.

"Yes. Tomorrow when the office opens--the law office, I mean. But...I'll have Morris handle it. It wouldn't be appropriate for Wade to do it, I think. I don't know much about the law, but it might be a conflict of interest for him to be involved."

"But just the same, he'll know about it through Mr. Morris. And it won't be a bad thing for Wade to know that Marybeth is neither penniless nor without connections."

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	47. violet 8

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

As the ranking doctor in the practice--and on Mrs. Meade's insistence--Dr. Meade was able to assign the holiday to Dr. Grant, who accepted the assignment with good grace. And so, on Christmas Eve, Dr. Meade joined the women in the parlor after supper and they had a merry time with talk and reminisces, but when Marybeth tried to retire for the night, Dr. Meade detained her, although he sent Mrs. Meade away, first.

Marybeth sat in her accustomed chair, with a bemused expression on her face, and folded her hands demurely in her lap.

Dr. Meade studied her closely. He generally didn't give a rap for what the fool women called "accomplishments", nor did he care who made "good matches" or not. To him, a good match meant being roughly equal in birth and status (assuming, of course that there was no stain of scandal touching either partner), but he didn't lower himself to the minutiae of matchmaking that the women gloried in.

Mrs. Meade had seen to it that Dandridge acquired a few accomplishments, and he had to admit that she'd done her job well. The girl was virtually indistinguishable from the young ladies of her circle. Her speech was refined now, her movements elegant, and according to his wife, she could play piano and draw, and even knew a few phrases in French. But elegance and accomplishments weren't enough to make a good marriage--he'd seen enough disastrous marriages in the years of his medical practice to be certain of that. His thoughts turned to Captain Butler and Scarlett. He didn't want that to be Dandridge's fate...

Naturally, he also knew how much Mrs. Meade had her heart set on this match, but If it wasn't in Wade's or Dandridge's best interests, then she would just have to accept that it wasn't going to be.

"I want to talk to you about your young man," he opened.

She nodded and waited expectantly.

"What do you know about his intentions towards you?"

"Until he declares himself, I'm afraid I can't speak for him. But I assure you, Wade has never treated me with anything but the utmost respect."

Dr. Meade nodded. She looked content and confident--not at all put out by his question.

"And does he makes you happy?"

She smiled and nodded coyly.

"That's good. However, I want you to understand something. Something very important. Whatever happens, whatever...opportunities...come your way, you always have a home here."

Marybeth gasped and put a hand to her heart. "Oh, Dr. Meade..."

"Spare me the sentimentality, young lady. You've lived with us a year and a half, and you've shown us the type of person you are. Mrs. Meade and I--well--we're both very...fond...of you...yes, fond of you. Furthermore, we've taken quite an interest in you. In fact, we've changed our will. You will be our principal heir when we're gone."

She shook her head slowly, as if trying to comprehend it all. Then she said, "Nooo...that's too great an honor. Surely you must have close relatives..."

"We don't. And I don't want to discuss the matter, either. I only told you so you know you have choices. So you won't think you must take the first opportunity that comes your way."

Marybeth looked at the Doctor, too overwhelmed for words. She'd had enough time to study him in that year and a half and knew that although he could talk about politics or the South with great eloquence, he didn't express his feelings towards his loved ones very openly. Dr. Meade's expression of fondness was just about the highest commendation she could receive from him.

And because he was uncomfortable with open affection, and he could see she was on the verge of it, he patted her shoulder and sent her--with a rather gruff dismissal--upstairs to her room.

She obeyed immediately, leaving him alone in the parlor to think...

Dandridge was his and his wife's heir. He would not go back on it--there was no changing his mind. And now the girl was aware of it. He wondered at the turn of fate that brought the three of them to this pass. After all, it wasn't as if he were _her_ father. He already was a father. A father to two good, decent, young men. Two young men who were dead. He heaved himself out of his chair and went over to look at his sons' pictures. Caroline had been a good, devoted mother to Phil and Darcy, and grieved like a good, Confederate mother. There were tears, yes. She took to her bed for a short time, yes. But she returned to her duties at the hospital and for the Cause as soon as she could, and never once complained that she lost her only children to that Cause.

That she came to take a motherly interest in Dandridge was her own business, and he couldn't deny she was happier since that girl and her children came to live with them than she'd been in more years than he wished to count. Perhaps because he found an outlet for his fathering instincts in caring for the children in his practice, he'd felt no desire to find substitutes for his sons. Yet, he had to admit, Dandridge had gotten under his skin in a way none of his patients ever did. He wanted to protect her.

_I don't want her to marry for money_. He thought. _Not that I believe she would marry him for so base a motive. But I don't want her feeling she has to marry the first man who asks her, just for security. We have nobody, Caroline and I. No close relatives, nothing. Let our money do somebody some good when we're gone._

oOoOoOo

Early that Christmas morning, shortly after breakfast, Wade called on the Meades' and requested a moment alone with Marybeth. They remained sequestered in the parlor for twenty minutes--twenty very anxious minutes for Mrs. Meade, who wrung her handkerchief in her hands as she paced up and down the dining room floor and waited.

"Sit down, Mrs. Meade, do," the Doctor urged. Her fidgets were making him nervous.

"How can I sit down when I don't know what's happening in there?"

"I'm going to give you a sedative if you don't stop that pacing," he threatened.

"I can't help it," she wailed.

"You'll only make yourself sick. You've never completely regained your strength after that bout of bronchitis last winter."

She obediently sat on the edge of one of the dining room chairs, but continued to wring her handkerchief. "Oh, _what_ can they be talking about in there?"

"Mrs. Meade, now you're just being foolish--you know as well as I do what they're talking about . But if it's any consolation, they're still in there--so rest assured, Dandridge didn't send him packing."

Mrs. Meade glared at him for this bit of levity and set herself to the painful task of waiting.

Whatever Wade and Marybeth said to each other can only be imagined. But when they emerged, they both looked extremely pleased with themselves, and Marybeth was wearing a new diamond ring on her left hand that she proudly showed to Mrs. Meade.

"Didn't I tell you not to worry?" Dr. Meade asked his wife after Wade took Marybeth to the mansion with him.

Mrs. Meade was too relieved about Marybeth's engagement to argue with him.

oOoOoOo

Wade took Marybeth home for supper, where they were greeted by his family with kisses and laughter and congratulations.

"Now we'll be really and truly sisters," Ella said as the girls hugged each other.

"I know," Marybeth grinned back at her. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"Let's not stand here in the hall. We can continue this in the parlor," Scarlett interjected as she squeezed Marybeth's hand. "Ella decorated the tree herself--she chased the rest of us out of there so she could have some privacy."

"How very mysterious," Marybeth giggled, allowing herself to be led by Scarlett.

The parlor was transformed by the sparkling, candlelit tree--complete with a young boy who was paid twenty-five cents to sit nearby with a bucket full of water to throw over it in case the branches ignited--and the fragrant evergreen boughs Ella picked and arranged herself. Marybeth paused to admire a particularly sweet-smelling assortment on the piano.

"Why don't you play for us?" Ella suggested. "Mrs. Meade's been teaching her," she explained to the rest of the group.

After a little show of resistance, Marybeth sat down to play. It had taken her quite a bit of teaching before she could memorize the keys and notes, but now, after several months learning under her belt, she was able to play passably well. At least, she rarely missed any notes, but at the same time, she lacked any artistic flair. However, nobody seemed to mind, especially as Wade sat down next to her on the bench, to lend his voice to hers as they sang "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear"...

In the first gaiety of the evening, Marybeth had been in a whirl, her head still filled with the castles in the air she and Wade were building earlier in the day. But when they sat down to table, she started to feel a creeping uneasiness. She laughed and chattered through dinner as if nothing were wrong. She told herself she was being silly--after all, she reasoned, all the faces around her were the same, but she couldn't fight off a sense of impending doom.

_I'm merely suffering betrothal jitters_, she thought to herself. _But if I can't feel wonderful, I can still act wonderful. I don't want Wade to worry about me_. But as it went, she didn't have much opportunity to think about her own discomfort as she and Wade were peppered with questions.

"When will the nuptials take place?" Scarlett asked.

Wade and Marybeth looked at each other. "We were planning for June," he replied.

"Why wait so long?" Scarlett exclaimed.

"Well, the banns must be published..." Marybeth stated.

"It won't take that long to publish the banns," was Scarlett's rejoinder.

"...besides, June is a lucky month..." Marybeth continued.

Scarlett looked like she was going to make another objection, but Ella interrupted. "Where are you going to live after you're married?" She asked.

Wade answered that one. "Not here--you understand, Mother."

"I do," Scarlett replied, not looking at all put out. "A newly married couple should have their own home. At least, that's how the young people are doing it nowadays."

"But we haven't decided where," he said.

Then Ella reverted back to the subject she was most interested in. "But you'll have a big church wedding, right?"

"No, that wouldn't be fitting," Marybeth replied. "We can have the pastor marry us in his study."

Ella didn't answer, but she looked a little disappointed. _When it's my turn_, she was thinking, _I'll have the church and a white dress and veil, and lots of flowers, both in season and out_.

The wedding talk made Scarlett revert to the subject _she_ was most interested in. "Well, the way I see it, that's one more reason to have your wedding sooner. After all, you don't have very much to plan, so..."

"If they want June, let them have June," Rhett interjected.

"Why Rhett," Scarlett exclaimed, "I was only saying..."

He stared intently at his wife. "It's their wedding, isn't it?"

Marybeth looked down at her plate, trying to pretend she didn't hear this quarrel between her future mother- and father-in-law. When she looked up, Captain Butler was looking straight at her.

"You'll have a honeymoon, of course," he said.

"Of course," Marybeth replied.

"But we haven't decided where," Wade added. "Maybe you can suggest some place." Then turning to Marybeth, "Did you know Uncle Rhett is widely traveled?"

"Is that right?" She replied.

"I've been a few places," said Captain Butler in a voice that would have sounded like diffidence in any other person. But there was a false note in it that made Marybeth vaguely uneasy. Perhaps his travels were a sore spot with him and Wade shouldn't have brought up the subject. But he spoke easily. "...London, the Continent..."

"...and California during the gold rush," Wade added.

Marybeth's eye opened wide. "The Gold Rush. How interesting."

Wade warmed to the subject. He'd always enjoyed hearing about Uncle Rhett's adventures when he was little. "He has some fascinating souvenirs--don't you, Uncle Rhett?"

"A few--I don't like to brag..." Then taken by a sudden inspiration, "Would you like to see some of the artifacts I've collected?" He pushed his chair back and walked around the table to pull Marybeth's chair for her. "No, that's fine, Wade," Rhett declined his stepson's offer to accompany them. "You help your mother here. I can show Marybeth to the library.

Captain Butler's earlier mood seemed to have passed--his voice was pleasant now, and he was politeness itself as he guided the younger girl through the library. It was a spacious room, but subdued and dim, filled ceiling to floor with books. Marybeth had never been in here before, and she would have loved to explore the shelves, but that would have been rude. Captain Butler brought her here to look at artifacts, not read books. She stood close to the door as he lit the gas lamps, and the room started to take on a cozy feel as it became illuminated. She felt bold enough to peer sideways to try to see the titles embossed on the spines of the texts.

His voice brought her back to attention. "The Modoc Indians lived in the areas around the gold strike--unfortunately for them. They attacked the prospectors who were moving in on their lands. Naturally, the prospectors fought back. But I did happen to come by some interesting tools."

She crossed the room as he took an object from the mantelpiece and held it out to her. Marybeth took it in her hands and examined it closely. It was small, about the size and shape of a cat's head, surprisingly lightweight, porous and rough.

"That was a pestle--made out of volcanic rock. This would have been used to hull wokas seeds"

"Wokas? I never heard of it."

"It's a type of water lily."

She examined the pestle more closely before she handed it back to him and he replaced it carefully on the mantelpiece. Then, quick as a flash, he grabbed her upper arm.

"Now drop that coy expression and look at me," he growled.

Marybeth felt her skin prickle--_he_ was the source of her sense of doom! She realized now that other than his argument with Mrs. Butler, her had contributed very little to the conversation at suppertime. He must have been waiting to ambush her like this.

Her throat squeezed shut with fear, which wound up being to her advantage, because her first instinct was to shriek. He was looking over every inch of her with an expression that made her grow cold. There was no lechery in his gaze, but a sneering, careful, minute appraisal that made her feel as if she had no secrets. Summoning her wits together, she assumed an air of innocent confusion she was far from feeling, and found her voice. "Is something the matter, Captain Butler?"

He squeezed her arm tighter, held it in an iron grip. She thought stupidly that it was good she was wearing long sleeves--the marks of his fingers would surely show on her skin after this.

"Why don't you be a good little girl and kindly inform me what game you're playing?"

"I'm not playing a game," she answered, her voice a little stronger.

He glared at her obtuseness. "Then answer this question--who are you, really?"

Her pulse accelerated, but she studied him right back, all her defensive

impulses rising to the surface. This wasn't one of the street thugs she used to encounter in her drifting days. This man was older and cannier than her, with more experience than she could imagine. In a battle of wits she was clearly outclassed. But she remembered that whatever his suspicions might be, he couldn't prove anything. This thought gave her courage and she looked straight into his eyes.

She launched into the story she'd spun before. "I'm Marybeth Dandridge, and I work for the Meades now, but before that I lived on a farm and I..."

"No, dammit. That's what you _say_, but let me tell you what I've _seen_. You sweep into Atlanta out of nowhere, with nobody to corroborate your story, and somehow manage to insinuate yourself into the best parlors. How do I _know _that even one little bit of your story is true?"

"Because," she said slowly, "Mrs. Meade believes me."

He flung her arm away from him angrily, and she took a couple quick steps backward out of his reach. "Mrs. Meade is old and lonely and needs somebody to dote on," he said contemptuously. "All that shows me is that you took shameless advantage of a grieving mother. But we still don't know who you are, or where you came from--how do we know you haven't pulled this stunt before? How can we be sure you don't have a whole string of towns behind you--full of people you've fooled?"

Her heart was still racing, and she longed to rub her aching arm where he grabbed her, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

He spoke again. "You see, Wade can do better than you."

She refused to rise to the bait. "Maybe he can."

But her placid response only served to make him angrier. "Never mind the false humility," he said scornfully. "There's something else I'd like to know. Just where did you get two children? You don't look old enough to have been married, ever."

Suddenly she felt a momentary panic. _Run! _ She thought. _He's found you out, run now! Run anywhere! _ She was faint with fear, but when she looked into Rhett's eyes she realized this was nobody to be trifled with--and nobody to show weakness to.

"But I was married," she insisted.

"I don't believe you. I want proof. Before you marry my stepson, I want proof. Or I'll go to Wade with my suspicions."

"Proof?" She muttered, her dark eyes burning oddly. Then, "Yes, Captain Butler, I'll bring you proof."

He looked at her suspiciously. This had been easier than he expected. A little_ too_ easy. But now it was her move. There was nothing more he could do at the present. "You had better. Now, try to arrange your face in pleasant lines. We're going to rejoin the others, and you wouldn't want Wade to think there was anything wrong." And with that, he bowed mockingly and allowed her to pass in front of him, out of the room.

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	48. violet 9

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Marybeth was awake early the following morning rummaging through the top shelf of the armoire in her room. She brought down the satchel that she hadn't needed since the day she arrived in Atlanta and dug down to the very bottom for the envelope she knew was there. That envelope was the most important possession she owned. For in that envelope were her papers. And her papers were her proof...

"_No, no, no, Marybeth insisted. I can't do this. I just can't."_

_The place was the kitchen of the Pluma farmhouse. The time was two weeks before she came to Atlanta._

"_Don't be a fool, Marybeth. It's the only way. Please be reasonable," Esther Pluma, the aging daughter of the house, answered her._

"_The only way? To fake my name? To pass myself off as somebody I'm not? I don't believe you. No. I won't do it. It's dishonest--sinful!"_

"_You've been living under an assumed name all along! Why should this time be any different?"_

"_What do you mean by that?" Marybeth asked, stunned._

"_Remember when I took you in? How you asked me not to press you for your real name because you'd disgraced your family and didn't want them to find you... "_

_Marybeth waved a hand at her. "Never mind. This is different." _

"_No, it's not," retorted relentless Esther. "But I took you in anyway. I took a chance on you, remember?"_

"_Yes, you did," said Marybeth, her head bowed humbly. Then she looked up at her. "But this really is different--these are legal documents."_

"_Well...not really legal. They're forged documents. Or they will be, when you let Cornelius do his job."_

_The Cornelius in question was a sandy haired man wearing a finely tailored but much-worn gray suit. He sat at the hearth with his back to both women, whittling his pen and tossing the shavings into the fire. But Marybeth had the feeling that he was listening to every word that passed between her and Esther._

"_But that's what I mean. It's one thing to tell people an assumed name. But to go to the step of making up false papers...this is too dishonest, Esther. I don't think I can go through with it."_

_The older woman sighed heavily. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you. If you were a young girl all alone, I would never even suggest it. But you're not all alone. You have Edward's and Christina's welfares to consider. You need a job, and I highly recommend you hire yourself out as a maid. In that way you'll have a roof over your heads."_

"_I don't need forged documents for that. I can find work on my own. I can take care of myself..."_

"_Take care of yourself?" Esther snorted. "A fine bit of taking care of yourself you've been doing up until now. Just look at you--not even 20, I'll wager, but you've been in trouble twice. Twice! How can you call it taking care of yourself if you keep choosing the wrong men to dally with..."_

"_I didn't choose!" Marybeth cried passionately. "I didn't even want..." Then she clamped her hand over her mouth abruptly and turned away to compose herself._

_Esther nodded to herself as she looked at the back of Marybeth's lowered head. No amount of force or pleading could induce the girl to talk about her short history, but she could be provoked into revealing things in a careless, unguarded moment. Yes, she especially needed protection. Esther was even more certain of that now, and she became merciless in her persuasion. "How many more times are you going to make the same mistakes? How many times are you going to flee one home just to find another home and more trouble? There has to be a stop to this madness, even you must surely see that." Her voice became softer, her tone wheedling. "Don't you want a fresh start? I'm sure you don't want to go through this a third time, do you? Don' t you want to stop living this way? Don't you want to try on some respectability for once?" _

_Marybeth felt herself weakening, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. She tried another line of defense. "I'm respectable now. And I understand why you wish to break up housekeeping, now that your father is gone. So why can't you just take me with you when you go to live with your sister?" _

_Esther looked at her sadly. "We've been through this already--my sister isn't expecting me to bring guests to her home."_

"_Then take me as your maidservant. I'm not proud."_

"_Bless you, you're not. But as I explained before, I'm emigrating to Brazil. You don't even speak the language. "_

"_I'll learn it. I'm a fast learner."_

_Esther shook her head. "I won't take you out of the country, possibly never to see your parents again."_

_Marybeth pleaded, "I can't ever see my parents again. I've disgraced our family. Twice over."_

_Esther sighed heavily. It was true, about the disgrace. But sometimes she wondered if the girl's parents would be more forgiving than she realized. "All the same, I won't take you with me. And that's final."_

_Marybeth looked so dejected, Esther went around the table and put her arms around her. She felt stiff and she was shaking a little. _

"_And don't worry, child. You'll go to the city--remember how we discussed Atlanta?--and things can be different this time. We'll make up a story to explain your children. For your children's' sake, say 'yes'." When she felt some of the stiffness leave Marybeth and saw her nod, she became businesslike. "Neil?" She called over her shoulder. "We're ready to proceed."_

_Cornelius sat down at the table with his newly whittled pen, and spread several documents before him._

"_What name shall we give your husband?" Esther prompted._

"_Joseph. After your father," Marybeth replied without hesitation._

_Esther was greatly moved. "Marybeth..."_

"_Why so surprised, Esther? He was very kind to me when he was alive."_

"_Joseph it is. And your last name?"_

"_Dandridge."_

"_Dandridge? What an odd choice for a made-up name."_

"_No it's not. I read it in a newspaper once and I liked it."_

_Esther nodded to Cornelius, who continued to scribble onto the paper. "You do understand, don't you Marybeth? I want you to have the chance to start fresh. Besides, you might want to get married some day, and the men you meet might not want a woman with a history."_

"_Never!" Marybeth said passionately. "I'll never get married. I hate men."_

_Esther let that remark pass without comment. The girl probably had good reason to hate men. She was also young enough that she could conceivably change her mind. "But you still need to find employment. And you won't find a respectable situation unless you, yourself, are respectable. You must believe me. This is the only way. One more thing. You must have my mother's ring." _

OoOoOo

Marybeth clutched the collar of her coat together as she walked through the chill Atlanta streets towards the bank where Captain Butler kept his office. The envelope containing her papers was grasped tightly in her other hand--she didn't even trust to carry them in her reticule--and she was grateful for her gloves. Her palms were sweaty--presumptive guilt, she supposed, at this deliberate deception she was perpetrating.

She felt a strange sense of dismay when she arrived at the bank only to find that Captain Butler wasn't there. She expected a confrontation and had steeled herself against it. To be deprived of it was no relief, but another form of slow torture. Left with no alternative, she scribbled a note to explain that she'd been there and had left the required papers--and would he please contact her when he was finished with them? Then she left the envelope and note with one of the clerks, remembering to look very confident. She needed to act as if this were no more important than any other business transaction.

In a few days time she received the notice she expected--to please come to the bank to retrieve her papers. The few days' respite, although it was painful, leant her an added measure of resolve and she was able to pretend a calm assurance she didn't feel. She sat across the desk from him, and he gave her the same impertinent, searching appraisal he'd done in the library of the mansion. He was a dangerous adversary, but she was ready for him this time.

"How lucky for you," he began, "or should I say _convenient_ that the Cleburne Hollow courthouse was destroyed in a flood a few years ago--along with all their court documents."

She looked blandly at him and nodded, as if to say, _such things will happen,_ but her hands were sweaty again and she could feel the pulses throb in her temples. She hoped she didn't faint. _Don't give way. I mustn't give way. Don't give way...don't give way..._

He folded his hands on the desk and looked hard at her. "What would you do, Mrs. Dandridge, if Wade were cut off without a cent for marrying you?"

Her eyes widened. "You would do that?"

_So she doesn't know the law,_ Rhett thought, although his expression didn't change. _Or maybe Wade hasn't discussed his finances with her. _In actuality, he didn't have that sort of power over Wade's money, and even if he did, he wouldn't use it as leverage to force Wade's hand. But it was a good test of Marybeth's intentions. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"As far as you know," he shrugged, casually. It seemed to him that she looked somewhat dismayed, and pressed what he thought was his advantage. "I take it the enticement of marriage to Wade is not so great if you think he's a poor man..."

"No, you're wrong," Marybeth answered him quickly. "I love him. I would rather be his wife and live in a hovel than anybody else's wife in the lap of luxury."

Rhett snorted. "Brave words."

"They're true," she insisted, somewhat heatedly.

"We'll see," Rhett shrugged again, then sneered at her. "So you'll still have him even if he's poor."

"Yes. I just hope..."

"What?"

She frowned and sighed. "I'm not proud, Captain Butler. I'm a maid, and I'm not ashamed to say it. I can only hope that...if he had to give up all his money...that he would still have _me_."

Rhett searched her face, and somewhat to his disappointment, realized that she was telling the truth, at least in this. So she wasn't a fortune hunter. But even if she was sincere about loving Wade, she still wasn't good enough for him. Besides, documents or no documents, he didn't believe a word of her story.

Marybeth continued, "I suppose now you'll be telling Wade he has to choose between his money and me. I guess we'll hear his decision soon."

"Wade's money is his to spend any way he wishes," Rhett replied calmly.

"Were you testing me? Trying to see what my reaction would be?"

"But of course! Did you expect anything different?"

"So you admit you have no power to tamper with his inheritance?"

"I admit it," he shrugged.

Goaded by his audacity, she asked, "Would you be happier if Wade married somebody who didn't love him? Just because she had money and social position?"

"I want Wade to have the best wife he can find."

She was furious with him for trying to play such a dirty trick on her. Throwing caution to the wind, she snatched her envelope away and stood up. "I do too, Captain Butler. And it's good we understand each other now. So _you_ understand _this_--I am going to marry Wade and be his wife--the best wife--to him. And nobody is going to stand in our way. Especially not _you_."

And straightening her shoulders, she turned coolly and walked out of the office.

Rhett was not the type of man to be sassed by a mere chit of a maid. But experience taught him how to bide his time.

_This isn't over_, he thought, as he watched her retreating back.

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	49. violet 10

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Despite her brave words to Captain Butler back there in the bank, Marybeth felt anything but courageous as she wended her way home in the chilly air.

His challenge made her realize just how precarious her security really was, and she was filled with self-doubt. _How_ did she ever manage to make anybody believe her story? _Why_ was he the first person to question it? With Esther's advice and coaching, she'd kept her explanation about her previous life short and simple. And besides, it sat ill with her to lie, and she was not such a one to continue to elaborate on a lie once it had been told. So for a year and a half she'd stuck by it without ever deviating, but now it seemed like the most ridiculous story ever concocted. A widow with two children? It didn't even sound plausible to her anymore.

Guilt rose up and gnawed at her vitals. When she agreed to this charade of Esther's, her only thought was to find a respectable situation. She knew it was a big lie, but she deemed it would only have little consequences. Before she actually arrived in Atlanta, she had imagined herself living out a quiet, retired life somewhere in a comfortable home with kindly employers. She didn't want adventures, she didn't want attention. She never dreamed she would find--besides the comfortable home and affable employers she aspired to--friends and a position in society and a man she could want to marry--who also wanted to marry her. What was that old phrase? She and Wade read it together--something about a tangled web when we deceive. Now she felt herself right smack in the middle of the web. And she couldn't feel more frightened than if there were a huge, menacing spider waiting to pounce on her.

Her fear and uneasiness grew as time went on. Only she couldn't escape it or put it aside with a few rationalizations and a vague decision to think about it later. Her lie was everywhere now. When she and Wade went to the priest to set their date, she had to bring her (forged) papers with her. When their engagement was officially announced, naturally her past came up, for that was the reason she and Wade would not be having a big ceremony--it wasn't proper etiquette to make a big fuss over a second wedding. Then there were the occasional comments about how it was her second marriage, but Wade's first. Those statements in particular made Marybeth cringe inwardly. It isn't true! She wanted to cry. This will be the first marriage for both of us! But of course she kept her mouth shut.

How could it be that only Captain Butler ever challenged her story to her face? Was she that convincing a liar? There was that disgusting word again. _Liar._ She always hated liars, and now she was one. Of course, there was always the possibility that tongues had been wagging the whole time and she wasn't aware. Then she discarded that possibility. If there had been gossip, Mrs. Meade would have heard it. She heard all the gossip.

Instead of being the happiest time of her life, Marybeth's engagement was turning into one protracted nightmare. She knew the answer to her dilemma, of course--it was no great mystery--she must come clean now and take her lumps. But she shied away from the thought. What if she did come clean? She would certainly wake up from this nightmare, no doubt about it.

But what if she woke, only to be plunged into a nightmare much worse than she could imagine...

oOoOoOo

_Thu-duh-dump, thu-duh-dump, thu-duh-dump_. The roan mare's hooves rang out on the woody trail as her young lady rider urged her forward--faster and faster--and all the while thinking that it was so _good_ to be out, feeling the crisp air rushing by her face and watching the kaleidoscope of images--now bright, now dim. It was midday in winter, and the leaves were still off the trees, the branches overhead casting shadows that gave the illusion of flickering lights to any rider going faster than a trot--in summer there would be no kaleidoscope, for the entire wood would be dim and green.

The rider felt the subtle change in her horse's gait before she saw its cause--there was another horse and rider up ahead. She reined in when she saw who was waiting for her.

He was off his horse and he held up his arms to catch her as she dismounted easily.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," said Raoul Picard.

"Me too. I couldn't get away from the folks at home until now."

"But I thought it was doctor's orders you had to go out everyday?"

Ella smiled. "It is. But Aunt India wanted me to pick up a few things at the store. I couldn't say no. But what does it matter? I'm here now."

He pulled her into his embrace, his mouth lowering to meet hers.

oOoOoOo

Edward Dandridge, as he was known to all the world, was three and a half years old, and it wasn't lost on him that his mother seemed to be particularly nervous these days. She jumped at the smallest noise, and fretted over the chores, and sometimes he even had to call to her a few times before he could get her attention. But when she stopped to sit down, and he or his sister climbed up onto her lap, Mama hugged them fiercely--almost as if she were frightened--almost so it hurt.

But then again, all the grown-ups were acting strangely these days, talking about a wedding, and Mama seemed to be the center of attention of all the ladies of his small acquaintance. They came and went from the house with their skirts rustling, drinking tea and eating little cakes and talking, always talking, about Mama.

Mama seemed to like these visits, for she laughed and smiled along with the ladies. But when she was left all alone, her forehead would crinkle into a puckered frown, and she would go back to her frantic cleaning and straightening and rearranging of things she had just rearranged earlier that day.

Sometimes old Mrs. Meade would scold Mama. "Marybeth!" She'd say (that was what the grownups called Mama). "Slow down--you're wearing yourself out. Do come in the kitchen and we'll have a cup of tea. I declare, if you polish that shelf one more time, you'll wear a hole right through it."

Then Mama would smile and put away her dust rag and go into the kitchen with Mrs. Meade.

But it wouldn't be long before she was fiddling with things again.

Sometimes Edward was awakened in the night by the sound of her pacing the floor in their bedroom. Usually he rolled over and fell back asleep when she did this, but one time he sat up on his little cot and watched her. Her feet were bare, her hair was loose down her back. Her nightdress seemed to glow in the moonlight and she looked a little ghostly as she paced and wrung her hands. But before he could become afraid, she saw him and flew to him. She tucked him back in gently, smoothed his hair and gave him a kiss. But she said, firmly, "Go back to sleep, Edward." And when Mama spoke in that tone of voice, one obeyed. However, she stopped pacing and went to bed after that.

Lucky Christina didn't seem to notice anything different going on, he thought resentfully. Night after night, as Mama paced, _she_ slept peacefully on her little cot, thumb in her mouth, rump in the air. Because he felt the strain of Mama's strain, he took out his feelings on his little sister--hiding her doll, for instance, or knocking down her block towers or by getting up close to her face to make her _look_ at him. But all that did was to make Chrissy cry and Mama scold. That's what you get, he thought glumly, when you try to talk to somebody who still wears a diaper.

There was one word he kept hearing over and over again in the grown folks' talk. So one day, when Mama was actually sitting down (although she was staring off into space), he climbed on her lap and asked, "What's _wedding_?"

Her eyes opened in surprise, and he wondered if he said something wrong. But then she smiled and held him securely and he felt reassured. "It means," she said, "that in a little while, I'm going to marry Uncle Wade and we'll all go to live with him. Would you like Uncle Wade to be your Pa?"

Edward smiled and nodded. He didn't fully understand what she meant by _Pa_, but it must be a good thing, because if it weren't, Mama wouldn't smile that way. "I like Uncle Wade. He plays with me."

"When we go to live with him, you'll be able to play with him even more often."

"I like that."

"Of course, it also means we won't live here anymore."

He looked up at her, not comprehending. He'd forgotten any other home than this one. Mama sighed. "Let me explain...you see...oh...let me put it this way..." she stumbled through her explanation. "Say we're visiting Mrs. Picard's house...We always come home before bedtime. But when I marry Uncle Wade, you and Christina and I will go to his house, not to return here, but to sleep there and eat there and live there. Forever."

"And Mrs. Meade, and Doctor Meade and Old Talbot and Betsy, too."

"Nooo...they won't come to the house to sleep and live with us...But they can come to visit and eat dinner sometimes!" She added brightly when she saw his face, stricken at the idea of leaving his home and the only family he knew.

And so it went. Somehow, in some way, Edward realized he would have more Uncle Wade and less Mrs. Meade and Doctor Meade. His insides felt funny. He wished he could have more Uncle Wade _and_ more of the Meades, who were always so kind to him. He didn't like the idea of his little world changing--he was very happy with it the way it was. Then he looked up into Mama's face. _That_ wouldn't change, he knew--he would still have Mama. She said so, herself. When they left here to live with Uncle Wade, Mama would be there too. Edward leaned against his mother and sighed. Everything would be good, so long as Mama was there.

oOoOoOo

"How long have we been meeting like this?" Raoul Picard asked Ella as they lolled on a large, flat rock by the creek.

She shrugged and peeled the bark off a twig with her fingernails, not caring if her cuticles were damaged. "Shortly after Mother took me to see the doctor and he threatened me with tonics."

"No, I think it was closer to Christmas."

She laughed and shook her head at his contrariness. Raoul always had to be right. "Does it matter?"

"No, I suppose not."

Their meetings weren't planned, at least in the beginning. She happened to be riding along the trails one day as he was riding the other way. They smiled and waved to each other, but neither of them stopped. A few days later, she saw him again on the same trail. He reined in close to her, doffed his hat, and they exchanged a few pleasantries before they each rode off again in their separate directions.. The same happened on another day, and another day. Eventually they fell into a habit of joking and toying with each other, in a lighthearted fashion. He joked and cajoled her with courteous gallantries, which she repaid with laughter and batting eyelashes. And Raoul was just as joking and cajoling the first time he kissed her, overriding her insincere, laughing attempts to push him away.

After that, they started meeting on purpose. Ella was reveling in these meetings. His flirtatious male attention was a balm to her spirits. And it was so exciting and just a little bit naughty to be meeting in the woods away from prying eyes.

Until one day he took a liberty...and she let him.

He came back to common sense before she did, and broke apart their embrace. "I'm sorry, Ella. I'm afraid I was no gentleman."

But Ella only laughed as she stepped away from him, pushed her hair back into its pins and smoothed her hands over her outfit. Regardless of what Mother or Uncle Rhett might say, she _would_ not be ashamed.

"I do respect you, Ella, I swear it."

"I believe you. Don't apologize. And besides, it isn't polite to swear."

Raoul found her levity to be a bit off-putting, but he thought of himself as a gentleman, and there was only one thing a gentleman could do under the circumstances. "I know--I'll marry you if you like," he said swiftly.

"Wha-- Marry?" Ella stared at him in astonishment. "But you're not in love with me, nor I with you."

"Don't you think it's a bit indelicate to bring_ that_ up right now?. But I do like you very much. And I just want to make everything right again. Besides, we're both sanguine people, easy to get along with. It might be fun being married to me."

_Fun?_ She remembered her conversation she'd had with Uncle Rhett about life. He said marriage could be fun. She still didn't entirely understand what he meant by that, but how odd Raoul should use the same word...

"But fun is no reason to marry...oh Raoul, the best way you can make this right is not to talk about it, ever again, to anybody, not even me."

Now he was even more put off--didn't he try to act the gentleman? He rather expected her to agree to marry him. Of course, she was right, too. As much as they enjoyed each other, their liaison was based on love-play, rather than on a love that was deep, true and abiding. And so he agreed to her terms, and with that they parted.

oOoOoOo

But afterwards, Ella pondered her last meeting with Raoul--she couldn't quite get it out of her mind. How did she wind up under his spell? He wasn't a handsome man, like Cousin Beau, for instance. Raoul was barely taller than herself, and quite hairy into the bargain. On the other hand, he had Gallic charm in abundance, and she basked in his admiration. And after Albert's backward wooing, Raoul gave her the recognition she had eaten her heart out for--the acknowledgement that she was a woman, one worthy of amorous attention.

Also, because nobody knew about these trysts in the woods, there was a certain rebellious glamour to harboring a juicy secret.

And in her deepest heart, she realized, there was another reason, a much uglier reason she liked trysting with Raoul. She never saw herself as a vindictive person before, and she didn't consciously think she was trying to punish Albert when she started meeting with Raoul. And yet, there was no denying it gave her a wild and stinging joy to know she was doing something that Albert didn't know about, but would hurt him if he did know. _So there, Albert. You might not want me, but that doesn't mean other men don't._

But it was over now--she hadn't completely taken leave of common sense--for all her insouciance, she knew she couldn't meet Raoul in secret anymore--she didn't entirely trust herself not to get swept away again. She stopped riding alone in the woods, instead putting Cinnamon through her paces in the ring. But this didn't work any hardship on her--for some reason, Raoul didn't seem as exciting anymore. Besides, the whole episode added another layer of complication to her life. And somehow it made her sore that her very first proposal had not been from love, but because she was compromised...

She wasn't in any danger of slipping back into her decline--she had gained too much confidence in these last few months for that--but all the same, she decided to confide in somebody, and decided that somebody would be Marybeth. Once she came to that decision, finding a time to talk to her proved more tricky. It seemed that Ella had all the time in the world, but Marybeth worked hard for the Meades during the day and her evenings were usually spent with Wade. However, patience and persistence paid out, and she finally had an opportunity one late evening--Wade was staying at the office to work on a case, and she invited Marybeth to visit. The girls were sitting on Ella's bed, talking about the upcoming wedding (for Marybeth had already asked Ella to be her maid of honor), when she confessed briefly what happened between herself and Raoul in the woods.

To her consternation, Marybeth flared up in anger. "Raoul did that? How dare he! I'm so sorry, Ella. Will you be telling Captain Butler?"

"No, no. You don't understand," Ella hastened to interject. "I wasn't angry--I didn't mind..." but she stopped in confusion to see the genuine distress in Marybeth's face. For the first time, her mother's teachings rose up and accused her and she felt ashamed. She slumped back against the headboard. "I can't imagine what you must think about me now. Especially because I already have Albert. But I do hope you still like me."

Marybeth leaned over and put a hand over hers. "You're the best friend I have in the world. I would hardly stop liking you over a thing like that." Her voice was very earnest--it was clear she put the blame squarely on Raoul and completely exonerating her friend.

For her part, Ella wasn't entirely above letting Raoul take the blame, especially if it meant Marybeth still respected her, and her good spirits returned. She hugged Marybeth and jumped up to rummage through her desk. "And besides, it's not as if we did the thing that makes babies start. I'm not like that trollop of a Camilla."

Marybeth started, but Ella didn't notice. "Camilla? Who's Camilla?"

"Oh...it's nobody. Nobody at all. Just somebody I heard about," she said abruptly before she changed the subject. When she turned around, she had a new fashion book in her hands. "I want to wear emerald green when I'm your bridesmaid. It's one of the few colors a redhead can wear...and what do you think of this style here on page twenty-six...?"

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	50. violet 11

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Although she liked her future daughter-in-law, it galled Scarlett that her only son would be married in a simple, bare-bones ceremony in the pastor's study, with only Ella and Beau Wilkes in attendance as the witnesses. Although she'd never thought it out plainly to herself, she always assumed her children's weddings would include fanfare and celebration, toasts and dancing, and noisy hilarity. But "no fuss for second weddings" was one of society's cherished rules, and although Scarlett saw no reason to abide by it, and every reason to break it, Marybeth was adamant--no fuss. Scarlett knew this because she tried to talk her into a big shindig, and was met with a respectful, polite, but firm _no_. So she resigned herself to wait for Ella's wedding to relieve her need for some pageantry.

Then Scarlett found an unexpected ally from an unexpected source--Mrs. Meade.

Just like Scarlett, Mrs. Meade regretted that the upcoming nuptials would be private, but unlike Scarlett, she followed the dictates of society, even if she didn't like them. But that didn't stop her from trying to find some loophole in the rules--after all, there is more than one way to skin a cat. So when Marybeth happened to mention casually that Catholic weddings sometimes included a Mass, she got an idea. The pastor couldn't perform a Mass in his study, could he? He would have to use the church, and then she and the Doctor could attend, also. So the next time Marybeth had to meet with the priest about the ceremony, she went with her.

At the rectory, Mrs. Meade struck up an immediate rapport with Father Quinn, the priest who was lately assigned to the parish. She took the situation in hand, asking him about himself (for he had a brogue one could cut with a knife), and from which part of Ireland he hailed (even though she knew little of Ireland or her counties), and how was he finding Atlanta? The priest, on the other hand, saw in Mrs. Meade a type he was all too familiar with--frail on the outside, solid steel on the inside--and found her amusing. Of Marybeth he'd hardly formed an opinion. She was merely one of the many brides he was scheduled to marry in the next few months.

Finally, Mrs. Meade brought the subject around to the location of the wedding. He listened patiently to her impassioned plea before turning to Marybeth.

"There's nothing keeping you from marrying inside the church itself if you please. And there'll be more divine grace from the full Mass than the ceremony alone," he pointed out.

Marybeth, raised from the cradle to respect the cloth, could not withstand Mrs. Meade and Father Quinn combined. She unbent enough to allow for a wedding Mass, but insisted that only the immediate families (she counted the doctor and his wife) would be allowed to attend.

When Scarlett heard that the ceremony had been moved to the church (and with a grudging feeling of respect for Mrs. Meade, who had wrangled it--who'd have imagined that old cat was so crafty?), she started to get an idea. She wasn't the bride's mother. She had no call to throw them a wedding breakfast, which was the current fashionable way to celebrate a marriage. But on the other hand, there was nothing to keep her from throwing a ball supper that _just happened_ to be scheduled on the same day as the wedding ceremony.

Marybeth was horrified when Wade told her about his mother's plans for a big party.

"No, Wade. You have to convince her to cancel. Or at least postpone it for another day."

"But Marybeth, it's been years since she's thrown a party. When I was a child, she and Uncle Rhett entertained endlessly. I think she misses it. And besides, what harm will it do? I certainly would like the opportunity to introduce you in society as my wife."

"But it won't look right! People aren't such fools that they'll truly believe the ball isn't in our honor. I don't want to start off wrong on our very wedding day. And besides, we'll have the rest of our life together for you to present me to your friends."

"If it's that important to you, I'll talk to her. But Mother is stubborn. I don't think it will do much good."

Marybeth wasn't about to wait for Wade to talk to his mother. She went to the store the very next day and asked to speak to her in private.

Scarlett led Marybeth into the back office, and closed the door, a bemused smile on her face. "Won't you sit down?"

Marybeth sat down, but lost no time launching her attack. "Mrs. Butler, is it really such a good idea for you to host a ball the same day Wade and I are married?"

"Why of course it is, dear, one may host a ball supper any time one wishes," Scarlett answered obtusely. She knew exactly what Marybeth was hinting at, but refused to acknowledge the hint. She wanted a party, and a party was exactly what she was going to have. And if Marybeth had the least sense, she'd appreciate how clever she was in finding a way around the dictates of society.

Marybeth looked down into her gloved hands. "I'm just worried that it won't look right, that it will seem to be like a wedding breakfast, and you know that with my circumstances..."

"Nonsense. There won't be anything about your wedding on the invitations I'm sending. It's merely a ball. Nothing else."

Marybeth tried another tack. "I also don't want to put you to any trouble. Getting up a party such as the one you're planning must be so much work, and you already have a house and the store and Miss Hamilton and..."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. You let me worry about it," and Scarlett patted the younger woman's hand. "All you need to do is think about your wedding." Then she looked at her watch, hanging from a black silk ribbon tied around her neck. "Oh dear, the time...I'm really very sorry, but we're quite busy today out front, and I'm sure Mrs. Meade needs you at home. Let me show you out?"

And with that, Marybeth was hurried out the door.

Winter slowly turned into spring, but the passage of Time--that alleged great Healer--did nothing to alleviate Marybeth's anxiety. Now, on top of losing control of her wedding, there was Mrs. Butler's ball to think about. Marybeth was near panic. All she desired was a quick, quiet ceremony and then she could start setting up housekeeping with Wade without undue fanfare. But between the combined efforts of Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Butler, all sorts of to-do were inevitable. All Marybeth wanted was to fade into the background, drawing as little attention to herself as possible, but nobody else would allow it. _All this planning and fussing just to make me an honest woman,_ she thought sourly.

Under the influence of this excess nervous energy, she redoubled her efforts to keep the Meades' house spotless, wishing desperately to make herself useful and avoid giving any offence. She also began to lose her appetite--instead of eating, she picked at her meals and moved the food around on her plate. Because it was her job to clear the table and scrape the dishes, she was able to get away with it unnoticed by anyone else. But her engagement ring was starting to slide up and down on her finger loosely, and she took to winding thread around it to make it tighter.

Mrs. Meade was aware of her nervousness, but deemed that it was no more than could be expected at such an exciting time, and didn't mention it to her. Until the day she fainted.

Marybeth and Betsy were in the kitchen making the day's bread. It was unseasonably warm, and the oven was already in use, for Betsy had decided to bake a cake in addition to the bread. Marybeth had barely touched her toast at breakfast, and as she stood at the table, kneading the bread, the heat from the oven and from the sun streaming in the windows, the yeasty smell from the dough, and her own barely recognized hunger made her lightheaded. She paused once in her kneading, looked up and took a deep breath, then resumed working the dough. But black spots began to dance before her eyes, and she seemed to lose her balance. The last thing she heard was Betsy's scream before everything went black.

When she came to, she was laying on the bench by the back door, with something under her feet, and Dr. Meade standing over her. For once in her life, Mrs. Meade overcame her fear of the telephone and called for him at the office.

"Well, young lady, you've worn yourself sick," was the first thing he said.

"No I didn't," Marybeth contradicted groggily. She turned her head a little to see Betsy helping Mrs. Meade into a chair. "It was just hot in the kitchen, and then I didn't eat a very big breakfast, either."

"The heat? Breakfast? Who do you think you're fooling? And another thing," he lifted her hand. "This ring fit when Wade gave it to you four months ago."

She pulled her hand back hastily. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have worried you like this." And she struggled to rise.

"Forget the apologies. And don't try to stand yet, either."

"But the bread!"

"The bread can wait. Betsy will make the bread. You, young lady, are going back to bed for the rest of the day."

Marybeth tried to talk him out of it, tried to cajole him into allowing her to resume her duties in the kitchen, but he turned a deaf ear to her pleas.

"Mrs. Meade," he said imperiously, "You make sure she eats something after she settles in upstairs." Then he turned to Marybeth. "If you don't take better care of yourself, by the time June comes around you're going to be one sorry bride for Wade."

_Too late_, she thought. _I'm already a sorry bride for Wade_.

oOoOoOo

When Wade came to call on her that evening, Dr. Meade met him at the door instead, and told him about Marybeth's fainting episode. But he didn't allow him to see her. Even if they were affianced, Wade had no business in Marybeth's bedroom before their wedding. Mrs. Meade held firmly to that. So he sent his best wishes through Mrs. Meade and left.

He worried about it as he drove all the way back to the mansion. And by the time he got home, his worry had increased to such intensity that he sought out Scarlett and relayed to her the story of Marybeth's fainting spell. To his relief, Scarlett didn't react with alarm.

"She's probably just nervous about the wedding," she reassured him. "You know, maybe she needs a change of scenery. In fact, why don't you take her to Tara? It's lovely in the spring and anyhow, she ought to see the house where she'll be mistress someday. Could you leave the office for a few days? You can? Then I'll write to Suellen and Will immediately that they should expect you."

oOoOoOo

When Gerald O'Hara died in 1866, all he owned in the world was a war-ravaged plantation in Clayton County, Georgia that was known as Tara. Care of the plantation passed into the hands of his two oldest daughters, Scarlett Kennedy and Suellen O'Hara, soon to be Benteen--but not his youngest, Careen, for she had decided to turn nun.

In it's heyday, the plantation was a prosperous and thriving concern, but by the time of Gerald's death it had deteriorated badly and had brought in so little income that Scarlett needed outside assistance to pay the taxes--it was for that reason she married Frank Kennedy. She needed his money and wasn't above marrying him to get at it.

In the subsequent years the two sisters, with the help of their husbands, had managed to keep and maintain the property and over time even made it valuable again. But eventually, the O'Hara girls fell to squabbling, as was their wont. Scarlett had always loved Tara and was willing to do whatever it took to care for and maintain it. Suellen had always liked Tara, as far as it went, but she wanted a place of her own. After all, Tara had always seemed like it belonged to Scarlett.

About five years after Melanie Wilkes' death, things came to a head between the sisters. A local plantation, Pine Bloom, was up for sale and Suellen wanted to buy it. She and her husband, Will, offered to sell their share of Tara to Scarlett, and to that end they wrote to her in Atlanta asking her to check over the details of Gerald's will.

Scarlett had never seen a copy of the will and certainly did not have it in her possession, and she wrote her brother-in-law a letter to that effect.

Upon receiving this information, Suellen and Will combed every inch of the big house but were unable to find not only the will, but any documents at all pertaining to the ownership of Tara. In consternation they contacted Scarlett.

Wade was studying for the entrance exam for Harvard at the time and was especially interested in the case because he wanted to enter law. He suggested to his mother, "Why don't you ask Uncle Rhett about it the next time he's in Atlanta?"

Scarlett didn't wait for Rhett to arrive, but wrote him a lengthy letter detailing the case. To her surprise, he showed up on the doorstep a bare week later, and took the inheritance issue in hand. Scarlett suspected he pulled some strings with his cronies in the government to make the transfer of property run as smoothly and quickly as it did, but the end result was that Tara was deeded solely to Scarlett, and Will and Suellen were the proud owners of Pine Bloom.

Rhett left Atlanta after shaking hands with Will over the deal, but Scarlett went back to Clayton County with her sister and brother-in-law to help Suellen with the packing and moving. It was the first time she'd been back to Tara since the summer after Melanie died, and when she saw the familiar, beloved, red soil and rolling green fields, she wanted to weep with joy.

oOoOoOo

The day before the move to the new house, Scarlett, Will, and Suellen walked all over Pine Bloom for the sheer nostalgia of it. Scarlett and Suellen both remembered what it was like back when the Calverts lived there. They reminisced together and regaled patient Will with stories of the parties and barbeques they remembered from their girlhood. It wasn't a particularly pretty house anymore, Scarlett thought, for the previous owners had allowed all the lovely wall coverings and paint to fall into disrepair. But the walls themselves and the foundation were still solid, and Will saw it in terms of its potential. So did Suellen.

"But I don't want to call it Pine Bloom anymore," Declared the future chatelaine of the house. "I don't want to be reminded of the old days when we start to live here. For then it will be our house. We'll have to think up a new name. Also, as soon as we go home today, I'll start looking over the catalogues for new wallpapers."

"I reckon I'd like a new name, Sue," Will agreed affably. "What do you think?"

Suellen shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know. But I want to think of one soon. This will be the Benteen house now, not the Calvert's."

"Well...weren't Tara named after Irish history? I seem to remember Ashley or Melanie saying so." Asked Will absently as he ran his fingers along the windowsill in the parlor, feeling for rot or cracks.

"I told you that, Will," Scarlett said, a bit irritably.

"So you did," Will agreed mildly.

"Pa said Tara was the seat of the high kings of Ireland in ancient days," explained Suellen, and Will nodded.

Scarlett, listening to this conversation, but not really feeling like a part of it, suddenly felt envious. Will's easygoing deference to his wife was annoying enough, but it was almost worse to see how Suellen seemed to ripen and bloom in response to that deference. Scarlett couldn't see what her sister did to deserve Will's kindness, but their marriage was a happy one. She also couldn't understand why Suellen and Will were blessed to live in such harmony when she and Rhett weren't. To relieve her jealous feelings, she indulged in some sarcasm.

"You could always name this 'Drogheda' after the siege all those years ago," she said, as she wandered towards the center hall. When she turned in the doorway she was astonished to see her sister and brother-in-law looking at each other thoughtfully.

"'Drogheda' has rather a ring to it," Will said.

"No, I was only kidding!" Protested Scarlett, rushing back from the hall.

"It _is_ from Irish history--Pa would have liked it," Suellen said, ignoring Scarlett.

"No! Listen to me! He wouldn't have liked it. Not at all," Scarlett said again.

"It's the site of a siege--it's a terrible name--you see, Cromwell..."

"You know, 'Drogheda' could really grow on me," said Will.

"'Drogheda it is," Suellen concluded as Scarlett threw up her hands in disgust.

And "Drogheda" it was.

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	51. violet 12

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

For propriety's sake, Wade and Marybeth stayed in properly chaperoned state at Drogheda. Prissy had been sent along as well, but she was to stay at Tara with Big Sam.

It was late in the afternoon when they arrived, with long shadows creeping over the landscape. But as they rode in Will Benteen's buggy from the train station, Marybeth had an impression that this was a land of rolling red hills, with huge outcroppings of granite and gaunt pine trees on all sides. Cultivated and tamed, but with a wild streak all the same. She decided she liked it already.

At Drogheda, Suellen and the children received them in the parlor, where they were all seated on the sofas and chairs. The oldest child, a daughter, was eighteen-year-old Susie, tall and with the same pale strawberry blond hair as her father--it could almost be described as pink. Next was sixteen-year-old Will Jr., stocky and compact, with dark brown hair and a florid, Irish, face. Then there was fourteen-year-old Gerry, brown-haired and -eyed like his mother, and with a slightly petulant expression (he had just lost a fight with his mother over the necessity of wearing his Sunday best only to greet Cousin Wade and his fiancée). And finally, seated on a wooden chair next to the sturdy table, was thirteen-year-old Minnie. She was the prettiest of the bunch, with auburn hair and tip-tilted green eyes, but also the most strangely dressed. Her frock was childlike in the bodice, with the ruffles common to little girls' clothing, but the hemline was all the way down to the floor, covering her shoes.

The entire family rose to greet them, except Minnie, and Wade didn't seem surprised by this, but made the introductions all around. Marybeth was wondering why the youngest child didn't come forward to greet them, when Wade broke apart from the crowd and strode to her chair.

"Cousin Minnie!"

The little girl broke into a wide grin and held her arms up to him. "Cousin Wade!" She replied, slowly and deliberately, with the barest lisp. Her arms' movements were jerky and unsure, but Wade swept her up easily and tucked her onto his hip, and as he lifted her, Marybeth saw a flash of metal under her skirts.

She felt a tug of compassion then--it was a leg brace! Cousin Minnie was crippled! Her pity must have shown in her face, because when Minnie turned to look at her, she frowned warily. But Wade didn't seem to notice. "Min, let me introduce my fiancée, Marybeth Dandridge."

Marybeth tried to cover her gaffe with a friendly smile. "How do you do, Minnie?"

"I do just fine," she replied with haughty, painful dignity. Her speech was very slow, Marybeth noted.

"Minerva!" Suellen said sharply. "Answer our guest prettily and mind your manners."

The little girl sighed and lifted her chin proudly, but her manners were impeccable as she stated, "Welcome to Drogheda, Miss Marybeth."

oOoOoOo

Later that evening, Marybeth was helping Suellen with the dishes. Suellen decided she wanted to talk to her privately, and she shooed the rest of her family and her maid away.

"I do hope you enjoy your stay here," Suellen started. "Of course, we're not as fancy as my sister's house in Atlanta, but we make do."

"No," Marybeth protested. "Drogheda is lovely--I especially adored that little window seat at the top of the grand staircase. It would be especially nice for curling up and reading on a cold, rainy day."

Suellen, like Scarlett, cared little for reading, but she smiled at receiving the compliment she'd been fishing for. "I must apologize for my daughter's behavior earlier. Minerva is very sensitive about her condition. She doesn't like to be pitied. Wade should have warned you. I'm surprised he didn't think of it."

_Yes, he should have_, Marybeth agreed silently, although she wouldn't make such a disloyal comment about Wade for anything in the world. But what a way to start off on the wrong foot with his family.

"You see," Suellen continued, "Wade's always been a favorite of hers. She can't play with the other children, and he always made time for her when he was visiting."

"This mayn't be very delicate, but what exactly does she--?"

"It's called spastic diplesia. It means her arms and legs jerk around when she tries to move them. You saw how slowly she eats--how much the effort costs her. But she refuses to accept help. We bought a chair with wheels for her, but she prefers to walk alone, holding onto walls and furniture. But of course, it takes her forever to move from place to place. Will carries her when he's in from the fields. Will Jr. tries to help her, but she usually refuses him."

"She let Wade pick her up."

"Because he's her favorite."

oOoOoOo

As the sun began to sink into the horizon, visitors came to call on the Benteens to meet Wade Hampton Hamilton's intended.

Marybeth, who had lived with the Meades for over a year and a half, was quick to notice that these people, the country equivalent of the Old Guard, had their own ways and customs, similar to, but not identical to the city dwellers. These people were more informal. Their manners were lovely, but they seemed to have an easier rapport among themselves. They were also poorer than the Atlanta folks--they hadn't recovered from the War as easily. However, they were possessed of pride in abundance, and she was certain that they would treat with disdain anybody who broke their unwritten rules--just like her friends in Atlanta.

She was also surprised to find that there was a certain hierarchy of status among them, one not based on money. Because they depended on each other more than city people, they had arrived at certain agreements--unwritten, but understood by all. Jim Tarleton was the ranking planter among them, due to his age and experience. The others deferred to his opinion when he spoke. After Jim came Alex Fontaine. The Fontaines were wealthier than the Tarletons, but Alex was a full generation behind Jim. Dennis Wilson, the fat, one-armed husband of Betsy Tarleton, was next.

Will Benteen's position was more nebulous, harder to pin down. He wasn't quality folk, and nobody ever forgot his deficiencies of ancestry. On the other hand, he'd married well, Suellen O'Hara being higher than him on the social ladder as the daughter of a planter. Furthermore, he was a capable farmer, open-handed with his neighbors in need, and generally seen as honest and God-fearing. He had earned the respect of his neighbors and they if they couldn't quite reckon him as on their level, he was much better than any mere Cracker. Will Benteen was merely Will Benteen.

Wade was Marybeth's entree into this society, and they were friendly and curious about her. Little Joe Fontaine, Wade's childhood friend, shook her hand solemnly and greeted her courteously. "Little Joe" was a misnomer--he was the tallest man she'd ever met! With his height well over six and a half feet, he was impressive when he looked serious. But then he turned to Wade and elbowed him, winking and making a comment under his breath that made Wade grin at her in turn.

A gray-haired woman wearing a riding habit, who Marybeth remembered as Mrs. Tarleton, pulled her away from the crowd and proceeded to pepper her with questions about Scarlett and Ella. "Suellen never tells us anything," she said, loudly enough for Suellen to hear. "Wade and Ella used to spend every summer at Tara when they were children, but we never hear anything now. Scarlett is such a poor correspondent."

"They're both well, thank you. Of course, they're both very busy with Miss Hamilton since her apoplexy."

"Pittypat Hamilton's been sick?" Sally Fontaine exclaimed. "Oh, Sue, how could you not tell us?"

"I did too tell you, Sal," came the indignant reply. "But half of what I tell you goes in one ear and out the other."

"Well, pardon me if I'm terribly busy with making Mimosa profitable, and not to mention our growing family."

"You're not the only planter's wife in the district, you know," was Suellen's retort.

"Sally," Beatrice intervened. "I'm afraid you're doing a dreadful injustice to Suellen. She did tell us, remember? And you have been scatterbrained lately. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in the family way again."

"_Missus_ Tarleton!"

"Then again, at your age, it could just be the change of life."

Suellen, who had never been completely been comfortable around earthy Mrs. Tarleton, and didn't want to give Marybeth the impression that County women were coarse and crude, changed the subject. "Scarlett rarely writes to me either."

Mrs. Tarleton, taking the hint, replied, "Then it's very fortunate Marybeth is here. Maybe you can tell us how Ashley and India Wilkes are getting on? And do you ever hear from Honey?

"I'm afraid I don't know much--I only met Miss Honey once. Mr. Wilkes runs his mill, and Beau is attending University. And as for Miss India, she's been very busy nursing Miss Hamilton."

"Wait a minute," said Hetty. "You said Scarlett and Ella were doing that."

"Yes, all three of them have been pitching in."

"So India and Scarlett are taking care of Pittypat together?"

"Yes, I believe so."

The Tarleton girls, Sally and even Mrs. Tarleton were hard put to it to smother their smiles, although Marybeth wasn't sure what she'd said that was so funny.

"At any rate," Sally continued, "We hope to see much more of you in the future. Scarlett has already sent out the invitations for her ball. We're all making the trip into Atlanta. Isn't it the same day as your wedding?"

Marybeth nodded, but had a sinking feeling. Did Mrs. Butler invite everybody she ever knew in life? She looked over at Wade, who was with the other men. He wasn't looking at her--he was too engrossed in the conversation going on over there.

Beatrice Tarleton saw where she was looking and smiled. "Suellen tells us you already have two children?"

In spite of herself, Marybeth stiffened. "Yes. I left them in Atlanta with the Meades. Their Betsy has a young niece who came in to help them. I'm told Lelia has a knack with small children."

"Did you have an easy time of it?" Beatrice asked, lowering her voice slightly.

"Easy time of what?"

"Childbirth, of course. The easier your confinements were in the past predicts how easy it will go with you in the future. At least, most of the time."

"I suppose it could have been worse than it was," Marybeth answered, embarrassed to talk about her private life to a group of ladies she just met.

"Honestly, Mrs. Tarleton. Can't you see you're making the girl blush? We really don't talk about breeding all the time," Sally Fontaine declared to Marybeth, although she threw a mocking glance at Mrs. Tarleton.

"Isn't Sally high and mighty these days!" Beatrice responded. "You were plenty glad to see _me_ at your bedside the last couple times you were lying-in, after the Young Doctor died and before we got Dr. Green over in Jonesboro."

"Yes, but there's a time and a place for everything, and the first time you meet a new neighbor is not the time to inquire into such delicate matters. She'll think we have no manners. Isn't that right, Marybeth?"

But in spite of Mrs. Tarleton's outspokenness--which she realized had no malice in it--Marybeth thought them all charming, and believed she could belong here.

oOoOoOo

After the callers left, Marybeth and Wade lingered in a darkened corner of the front porch together as long as they dared, for Suellen had very strict ideas about propriety.

"Everybody really liked you," he murmured into her hair, as he held her closely.

"I'm glad. It's so hard to meet new people. I'm always afraid I'll do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing."

"You must have said all the right things, then. But more importantly, you seemed happy tonight. I'll never forgive myself for not seeing it sooner--that you've had so much nervous tension about our wedding."

"I'm happy because I'm with you, Wade." And it was true. Whenever she was alone with him, she could pretend that the rest of the world was very far away and she forgot her fears for a little while. Unfortunately, the rules for affianced couples were extremely strict--it was the duty of all interested parties to prevent them being unchaperoned for undue amounts of time--and a moment alone with him was a rare event, indeed.

oOoOoOo

That night, Marybeth shared a room with Susie.

Susie Benteen was faintly jealous of the stranger girl. Oh, it wasn't anything personal. Marybeth seemed like a good enough sort. Only...Susie grew up hearing about how Hamltons always married their cousins, and it had been in the back of her mind that if she couldn't hook one of the county swains, there was always cousin Wade as a last resort. She had been especially encouraged in this idea this by his awkwardness with the opposite sex, and it never occurred to her that he might overcome it. Not that the idea of marrying him had thrilled her, for she didn't have any feelings of infatuation towards him. However, he was nice looking and was going to come into a decent inheritance, and besides, marriage to Cousin Wade was infinitely preferable to the ignominy of being an old maid.

So it was a somewhat unpleasant surprise when the letter from Aunt Scarlett came announcing his engagement.

The news of the engagement left Susie feeling faintly insecure. He wasn't exactly hers--and she was not the type to delude herself into thinking he was--but when he belonged to nobody, she reasoned she had as good a chance as anybody. And she further reasoned that he would have been so flattered by her preference of him, being unused to feminine attention and all, that he'd be easy pickings. But now it wasn't meant to be.

Susie was a "nice" girl--spotless reputation--but she could be bossy and rather sharp-tongued. The boys of her acquaintance liked her after a fashion because she was amusing and witty, but they didn't transfer this general friendliness into feelings of romance. However, now she_ had _to hook one of the county boys. There was no help for it.

Being faced with this new challenge, the challenge of catching a husband among the males of her acquaintance, she felt the need to relieve her feelings, and decided to do it by asserting her superiority over Marybeth.

"I'm so glad you'll be part of our family," Susie announced as graciously as a queen.

"Thank you," Marybeth smiled as she turned away from the vanity table and started to braid her hair.

"Oh please, let me. Let me," Susie offered.

Marybeth shrugged and handed the brush to her, then turned back to the vanity.

"You know," Susie said confidentially as she expertly applied the hairbrush, "I know all about Wade Hampton. We practically grew up together, and we're very close."

Marybeth looked at her in the mirror in surprise. She couldn't remember Wade mentioning this cousin of his even once.

"Oh, yes!" Susie continued when she saw the look of incredulity in the other girl's face. "Of course, he's very quiet--as even you must have noticed--and doesn't open up to just anybody. Not that _you're_ just anybody," she simpered. "But confiding in somebody you just met is not the same as confiding in a very old acquaintance. You must surely understand that. But you mustn't feel jealous," she added gaily. "He simply adores you!"

Marybeth lowered her eyes and murmured something polite. Was it possible Susie was in love with Wade? Then she decided not. More likely, Susie was the type of girl who needed to be in the center of attention. With all the attention on herself, Susie must be feeling left out. But she smiled inwardly. Whatever Susie's game was, she could manage her. And she could do it without lowering herself to a contest over who had the greater claim on Wade's confidences.

Susie braided her hair quickly and tied off the end with a little length of ribbon. "Of course, I know all about that family. They don't have any secrets from _me_. Did you know," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "That Aunt Scarlett had an affair with Ashley Wilkes? Oh not recently--that was ages ago--way before Cousin Bonnie died."

Marybeth's cheeks flamed, and she looked at Susie, stunned. It wasn't that she either believed or disbelieved Susie's claim--it was so long ago and furthermore, none of her business--but she was shocked that anybody would tell such unseemly stories about her own relatives.

But Susie misinterpreted Marybeth's reaction as avid interest and she continued. "Oh, yes, and everybody knows that Uncle Rhett was a hard-drinking gambler who _kept_ a woman--even after he married Aunt Scarlett. Of course, everybody knows Aunt Scarlett drinks a bit too much too..."

Marybeth held up a hand. "Please stop."

"But..."

"You forget yourself. I'm about to marry Wade. This is not a proper conversation at all."

"Hmph! Hoity-toity." And with that, she climbed into bed rather huffily and turned her back to Marybeth. Wade's fiancée was impossible to understand. She should have been grateful to hear all the dirt from her, and not from strangers.

_First I made Minnie angry with me. Now Susie. I still have three more days here_, Marybeth thought ruefully. _Plenty of time to make more enemies_. But at least Minnie had a valid reason to dislike her. Marybeth didn't like to be pitied, either, and she understood how she angered the little girl. But Susie! There was a cat of another stripe. Marybeth found the idea of sharing a bed with this cousin of Wade's repugnant, but there was no other choice. She slipped under the sheet and lay with her back to Susie, as close to the edge of the mattress as she could manage without falling out of bed altogether. She never cared much for gossip, and tried not to give too much credence to the stories ladies whispered to each other over teacups. But an idea, once in a person's head, is devilishly hard to eject, and the more she tried not to think about it, the more the story intruded. Was that the reason for the unfriendliness between her future mother- and father-in-law? Did Captain Butler seriously suspect his own wife of adultery? Before she heard Susie's loose talk, Marybeth thought their problems started with Bonnie's death. That was certainly Wade's theory--and a reason that would have been tragic enough in itself. Of course, now it made more sense why Captain Butler was suspicious of her. It might not be fair, but she could understand it a little better.

But poor Wade! Poor Ella! Imagine growing up in a house full of discord and strife like that! Marybeth's own parents had been fiery and passionate and were prone to frequent, hot quarrels. But they loved each other, too. Fight and make up. Fight and make up. It all followed a predictable pattern. Sean Patrick would complain things like, "_Gnocchi alla Romana_ again? Why can't we ever have ham and potatoes?"

Then Annamaria would flick one of the dumplings at him from the tip of a spoon, he'd roar in anger at her, and she'd roar her defiance back at him. But these quarrels never lasted long, and they'd be laughing together within the half hour. Never once did they accuse each other of ugly misdeeds--adultery and suchlike--never once. They confined their quarrels to little, laughable things.

oOoOoOo

The next morning Wade took Marybeth to Tara, with Susie and Will Jr. in attendance, in accordance with the rule of not allowing engaged couples too much time alone.

As they drove over the crest of the hill to reveal Tara and its lands, Wade proudly waved his hand in a broad, sweeping gesture. "All this, as far as you can see, all the way back to that line of trees way in the distance--can you see it?--belongs to my family."

Marybeth's breath caught. It was beautiful, all gentle rolling fields, with new spring green, and after the previous night's soft rain, the soil was even more red than the day before. "Do you still draw, Wade? I should think this vista would send you running for your pencils."

"I don't have much time to draw these days, but you're right. When I was younger I used to come up here and draw the landscape. Most of what I drew wasn't worth saving. But I have a couple pictures I'll show you someday. However, no mere drawing could do this justice."

Susie commented, "Our plantations, Tara and Drogheda, are near the Chattahoochee River. It's not too many miles north of here." Susie was sweetness itself during this outing. She had awakened that morning acting as if the previous night's quarrel had never happened.

Marybeth stifled a childish giggle. She'd always thought Chattahoochee was a funny sounding name, ever since she was a little girl and read about it in her Geography.

The Tara big house was remarkable for seeming not to have any predetermined floor plan. It looked to Marybeth as if the owners simply added rooms whenever and wherever necessary. But for all that, it had a cozy feeling to it, not at all like the meticulously designed mansion in Atlanta. It had bright new paint and draperies of lace and velvet. There were only a few pieces of furniture--a sofa here, a table and chairs there, a couple bedsteads, for nobody had lived there in several years.

"Usually, the furniture would be covered with white sheets, but Prissy was under strict orders from Mother to air all the rooms," Wade commented.

However, the house was completely bare of the little odds and ends such as knickknacks and books, inkwells and hairbrushes that make a house a home. The kitchen was the most used room of the house, and Big Sam only used one pot, one plate and one cup on a daily basis. He cooked for himself when Prissy wasn't there to cook for him, although the Benteens sent over bread every other day.

"What would you call this style of architecture?" Marybeth asked curiously. "The rooms all seem to belong together and the floor plan is logical, but it's not quite like anything I've ever seen. And some of the rooms look newer than others."

"You have good eyes. Grandfather O'Hara was still a bachelor when he started building it. I believe he merely added rooms when he needed them. When I show you around the outside of the house, I'll point out where the additions were added. And as for the style, if there is a name for it, I've never heard it. The barns and stables are in good repair, and so are the overseer's house and the slave cabins. Of course, the latter have been unoccupied for over twenty years, but Tara is sort of a pet project of Mother's. She likes to keep everything the way it was before the War."

"Why didn't Mrs. Butler come with us? I would think she'd want to see how it was coming along."

"She's only been to Tara twice in the last--maybe--twelve years. I'm not entirely sure why, either, except she doesn't really like to live in the past. When you get to know her better, you'll see she rarely reminisces."

"Funny she holds on to Tara, then."

"Not really. She's been talking about my inheriting it for a long time."

Marybeth looked around her more curiously then. Tara. Someday, she and Wade might actually live here. In daydreams she imagined herself, chatelaine of Tara, keeping house for Wade, perhaps raising their children there, God willing. "I may not understand her never visiting here, but I'm glad she kept it."

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…more to come!**


	52. violet 13

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

The following morning they slipped the diligent chaperonage of Suellen and went to the bank of the Flint river for a picnic. They sat close together and watched the muddy water flow by.

"Only two more months before we're married," Wade stated.

"I know." She said sighing happily.

"Are you sure you want us to set up housekeeping with Aunt Pittypat?"

"Absolutely. It will relieve Miss Wilkes, and your mother, too. And besides, your Aunt Pitty will be my Aunt Pitty. You don't know how good it will be to be in a family again. I've been so alone..."

Despite a pathetic note in her voice that touched his heart, he continued in the same vein. "But you've worked so hard for the Meades."

"They've been very good to me."

"Yes. They have. But all the same, I didn't ask you to marry me just to plunge you into even more work and toil."

Marybeth laughed. "I could never be a lady of leisure. I'm too restless for that. And besides, it will save you having to spend money on a house."

"Marybeth! Is that what this is about? I assure you, I can afford to build us a house. Uncle Henry left me enough. And what good will money do if I can't make your life easier?"

She smiled and lay her head on his shoulder. "I want to be part of your life and part of your family. Aunt Pitty's house is fine. And besides, didn't you tell me that it's actually your house--yours and Beau Wilkes'?"

"Fine. I'll indulge you in this whim of yours," he said affectionately. "But if I think you're working too hard, I'm fully prepared to build you a house and remove you by force if necessary."

Marybeth giggled at the idea of Wade removing her by force. "Agreed."

He put his arm around her shoulder and they gazed over the Flint in silence for a space. "This afternoon we must go to Fairhill."

"Isn't that where Jim and Beatrice Tarleton live?"

"Very good--you remembered! Anyway, I have some business to conduct with Mrs. Tarleton. To coin a phrase, I have to see a lady about a horse."

"Stop talking in riddles. What do you mean?"

"You need a saddle horse of your own. We're going over to get you one."

"Now Wade, you know I can't accept such an extravagant gift from you."

He grinned at her. "You women-folk have rules for everything. Never fear, I wouldn't dare give it to you until after our wedding. Then you won't have to keep borrowing Mother's horse."

"It's so beautiful here," she said, "So peaceful. I wish we could stay here forever."

He turned then, pulled her closer and kissed her, capturing her lips, delighted how perfectly they fit his. Seized by a sudden impulse, and without breaking their contact, he pushed her gently back onto the blanket, cradling her in his arms as he did so. He kissed her more firmly then, parting her lips, and his breath caught when he felt her take his head in both her hands, running her fingers through his hair. He left her mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone.

Marybeth trembled as she felt that familiar sweet yearning, tinged as it was with a faint anxiety. Ignoring the anxiety, she lifted her head slightly and brushed her lips against his ear, and whispered some endearment to him.

Wade's response was immediate. With a moan, he pressed her to him strongly, found her mouth again, and moved his hand caressingly over her hip, her waist, her stomach. But when she felt him move his hand higher, her anxiety blossomed into fear. With one mighty shove she pushed him away and rolled out from under him, sat up quickly and put her face in her hands.

In an instant he was beside her, but careful not to touch her.

"Marybeth," he said--his voice was ragged. He took a deep breath and began again. "Marybeth, forgive me. I didn't mean--I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. It won't happen again."

Marybeth nodded quickly, but didn't look at him, too overwhelmed to speak. But little by little her shaking stopped. "It was my fault," she whispered. "I shouldn't have done that--thing--whispered in your ear like that."

He blushed and looked away. "You know I love you and respect you..." he started.

"It will be different after we're married," she said, looking down. "It won't matter--I won't stop you when you..." She broke off, embarrassed.

They lapsed into silence for a while. Then he took her hand, kissed it. "I don't...repulse you...do I?" He asked low.

Marybeth remembered the yearning that threatened to carry her away and looked down, red faced. Some people claimed that women were incapable of wanting that way. Or at least that no lady would admit to it. But ladylike or not, she wanted him today, and in two months she would be his completely. But how could she explain the fear that was so entwined with her yearning?

"You don't repulse me, Wade," she whispered. "I long to be your wife. But for now..."

"I understand," he said gently. "We had better head back to the house before they come looking for us." He stood up and helped her to her feet. They folded the blanket together and tucked it under the handle of the picnic basket. He carried the basket in one hand, and Marybeth took his other arm demurely, walking by his side. He really though he understood the delicacy and modesty of his bride. And in part, he did. But there was that other part...

That night sleep eluded Marybeth. Long after she heard Susie's even breathing, indicating sleep, she crept to the window seat and sat with her arms flung round her knees, looking out over the rolling fields of Drogheda and remembered back to when her Edward was conceived...

_It had all started innocently enough. Miklos Varga was a boy Marybeth had grown up with. He was her best friend. They used to play together, challenge each other, race horses, climb trees--always trying to outdo each other, but theirs was a friendly kind of rivalry and they defended each other fiercely against outsiders. And as long as they were children, nothing could disturb their friendship._

_But then they started to mature. Marybeth was exceedingly innocent of boy's natures despite her friendship with Mik. She hadn't paid much attention to the changes that were happening to both of them as the years rolled by, but Mik was... _

_One day he came to the realization that merely looking at her caused him to have strange new feelings. Shortly after that he realized that her casual, innocent touches were causing the same reactions. He pulled away from her a bit, to her hurt bewilderment, and spent more time with the other boys, listening to their talk--and not all of it was innocent. He was becoming more informed about life than she._

_But he continued to seek her out, they still played games together. Only he started to crave her touch. He would casually take her hand when climbing up into the hills or helping her over streams. But Marybeth never noticed anything different in his demeanor towards her and was too untouched by life to put any romantic interpretations on it._

_Then one hot summer day when she was fourteen, on the day before the new school year was about to start, he brought her up into the hills to shoot rabbits. It was something they used to do quite frequently. Across their favorite trail lay a rather large tree which had fallen in a recent storm, and he helped her over it. When she was safely on the other side, rather than letting her go, as he usually did, he pulled her closer and kissed her._

_Marybeth was startled and surprised, but pleasantly. She had no romantic feelings for Mik, but he was familiar and she liked him, and it felt warm and cozy to be held this way. Suddenly she had a flash of insight--this was what the other girls meant when they whispered to each other about courting. This was why girls made themselves pretty for the boys they liked. This is what they were after! _

_She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, giving herself over to the pleasant feeling of being held. But then his kisses became more insistent, his hands intrusive. That was enough for her--Marybeth was finished. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn't allow it. He was bigger and stronger than she was; they were no longer evenly matched as they were in their childhood. The more she fought, the tighter he held on her and in the end she was unable to fend him off..._

_When it was all over, she sat up, unhappy and deeply dazed. As if in a dream, she adjusted her clothing, brushed off the dirt, tried to pick the twigs and leaves from her hair. Mik was talking to her, but through the buzzing in her ears she barely heard what he said. He reached out to pluck a twig from her hair but she batted him off and he pulled his hand away. _

_They were walking back down the trail, and Miklos was still talking about something. Then one thing he said penetrated the fog she was in. "I'm sorry."_

_She was filled with rage at that moment. She reared back and punched him in the stomach as hard as she could. While he was doubled over with pain and shock, she took off down the trail like a shot and darted around a curve where he couldn't see her. When she was positive he wasn't chasing after her, she veered off the trail and fought through the underbrush to arrive at a clearing by the stream where there was an overhanging boulder that made a little cave. She crawled under the boulder then and sat, for how long she didn't even know, arms across her stomach and watching the stream roll by, crying with pain and revulsion and shame the whole time. She wasn't entirely sure what had just happened, but she knew without being told that it wasn't a story she wanted to have get around._

_Her menses never came that month..._

**Hope you're enjoying it so far…because the end is near!**


	53. short penultimate chapter

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Barely a breeze stirred the leaves on a hot twilight evening at the end of May, but it didn't matter at all to the congenial group gathered on the Wilkes' back lawn. It wasn't overly hot, at least not by Georgia standards, but even if it were, well, that's what fans were for. But none of the ladies seemed to need a fan.

Marybeth sat quietly at the edge of an animated crowd who were discussing the recent events that had made all the headlines. In Chicago, several police officers were killed by a bomb explosion, and several revolutionaries were arrested as suspects. Marybeth knew somewhat about it--Dr. Meade discussed it with Mrs. Meade at some length. In Marybeth's opinion, it was rather a shame, all that loss of life. But she was too busy with her upcoming nuptials to worry over it too much. Not so, Wade. He'd read everything he could find in the papers concerning the case--it seemed to fascinate him. And in the course of his reading he formed some opinions of his own, opinions he was now defending to his friends as he held forth in the middle of the crowd.

"You sound like an anarchist, Wade--or at least a socialist--when you talk sympathetically about labor unions," Joe Whiting said.

"I'm neither of those things," Wade replied. "But you have to understand, there is a movement afoot in this country towards better pay and working conditions for the average laborer, and it has all the earmarks of a lasting idea."

"Now you sound like a wild-eyed foreigner, just like the rioters," Raoul stated.

"The accused men weren't all foreigners," Wade pointed out.

"Doesn't matter--their philosophy is foreign," Raoul shrugged. "If you're not a socialist, then you must be a Marxist?"

Wade's eyes flashed angrily, but as his wont, he never raised his voice. He hooked one hand in his waistcoat and stood up straighter. "Of course not, I'm a capitalist--and a Democrat--like the rest of you. And at the same time I believe in law and order."

Marybeth looked down to hide a little smile. That must be his courtroom posture. In daydreams she imagined him talking to judge and jury, persuading everybody to his own way of thinking, winning cases...

"And yet you don't seem to be against throwing bombs at the police," Frankie Bonnell countered.

"Now wait just a minute," Wade defended himself. "I never said I advocated violence. In fact, the rally leader himself, August Spies, said the rally was not meant to inspire violence, only change--change to an eight hour working day."

"That will never happen," Joe grinned comfortably. "If the workday were only eight hours long, how would anything get done? And anyhow, everybody knows those types of people are prone to violence. If they can't get what they want through proper authority and the proper steps, they resort to violence."

Wade tilted his head to one side. "That's part of the reason I went into law. I want to leave this world better than when I found it--more fair, more just. But what do you mean by _those types of people_? Do you mean foreigners, or the poor? My own grandfather was an immigrant from Ireland. And after the War, we were all poor."

"But our fathers didn't riot in the streets and kill people," Frankie retorted.

"That's not entirely true. What about the Ku Klux Klan?" Wade said slowly, very aware he was now wandering into dangerous and controversial territory. The Klan was still a touchy subject, even though most of the men of their circle were no longer Klan members. The northern newspapers still decried the Klan and its activities, and it still gave them an excuse to portray the South in a bad light. "They believed they were fighting against an oppressive government. And yes, people were killed--Negroes, certainly. But also a number of White men. Look at my own step-father--he wasn't killed by the Klan, but he was killed while involved in Klan activities."

"Oh, that's completely different--the Yankee government refused to protect our rights--refused to recognize we even had rights," Frankie insisted.

"I understand your point of view, Frankie, but although the situation may look different to you and to me, in the eyes of these _revolutionaries_ so called, it may not look different at all. They believe they're fighting for their rights."

"Don't you believe they should be punished? Seven police officers _died--_seven!" Frankie replied.

Marybeth was still giving the outward appearance of listening to the debate but in reality daydreaming about her upcoming wedding when Beau Wilkes quietly came and sat beside her on the bench, in no good mood. While Wade debated with Frankie, there had been some unmistakable sheep's eyes directed between Raoul Picard and Ella. What was Raoul to her? She never mentioned him to Beau. But he smothered his irritation and smiled at Marybeth, who smiled back at him. An easy friendship had sprung up between them over the last few months and he really liked his future cousin-in-law, and that feeling was reciprocated.

"I better rescue your fiancé," Beau said wryly.

"Whatever for?" She asked. "He seems to be doing well on his own."

He laughed. "Is that what you think? You haven't been following the conversation at all, have you?"

She blushed and grinned at being caught out. "I already heard all this at home from Dr. Meade. I suppose I was busy thinking about other things."

"I suppose you can be forgiven for that just this once. But I must congratulate you--you do a superb impression of somebody paying attention to what's going on around her. However, I think I will go rescue Wade."

They both turned to look at him. He hadn't lost his cool demeanor, but he was starting to show signs of frustration at the way his friends were misunderstanding him. "I do believe the guilty party or parties should be punished for this heinous crime," Wade was saying. "But I've been following the papers and I know the evidence against the men they arrested is slim at best."

The others were shaking their heads in disbelief. Beau winked at Marybeth, then stood up and stepped forward. "Gentlemen, I must rush to the defense of my cousin. Father and I strive to give our workers a fair wage, and to know them as individual persons. We're a small concern and we're able to do that. But the big factories, the ones who hire hundreds of employees, can't do that, and unfortunately, a lot of the owners really don't care a fig for their workers. But I'm sure that some day labor unions will come to Atlanta--they're already forming in other cities--and although I hope we can maintain our friendly relations with our men, Father and I may be forced to make a decision either for or against unions, especially if they chose to organize or go out on strike."

"Beau, I never dreamed you were a socialist, too," Raoul, who had rejoined the conversation, said reproachfully.

"It's not socialism to recognize that a man might want a better life for his family--without working himself into an early grave to do it," Beau laughed. "And actually, Wade here, works more than eight hours a day at the law office. And so do I, when I'm home from University and help Father at the mills."

Joe chimed in. "That sounds all high minded and nice, but don't forget the slaves you owned."

Now it was Wade's turn to laugh. "I never owned slaves--although my family did. You seem to forget I was only three when the War ended and freed them all. And Beau wasn't even out of babyhood..."

After this the mood of the crowd changed a bit. They went on debating, but with Beau siding with Wade, it was no longer rancorous. Marybeth was pleased to see that Wade didn't back down in the face of the opposition of his friends. She was proud that he stuck to his beliefs and tried to see both sides of the story. She sighed softly. Only two more weeks, and then she'd be married to him.


	54. long final chapter

Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

"Wade Hampton, will you take Mary Elizabeth, here present..."

Marybeth knelt by Wade's side in her silvery pink dress, veil over her head; not a misty white wedding veil--it wouldn't be fitting--but an ordinary veil for church. Although she listened intently to the words of the priest, she couldn't help that her mind wandered just a bit: _Dear Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I love him so much, make me a good wife to Wade. Don't let him ever have reason to be ashamed of me or regret me. If I could have done my life differently, I would never have allowed Miklos to maneuver me alone, I would never have even talked to Alex...Everybody here thinks I'm marrying for the second time. I wish it could have been different. I wish I hadn't told people I was married before. I hate myself for lying to everybody who was so good to me._

"Mary Elizabeth, will you take Wade Hampton..."

_But what else could I have done? Maybe people could have overlooked falling into disgrace once, but twice? Who would have hired me? How could I have supported my children? Maybe I should have never talked to Wade. I knew fully well he was falling in love with me, and the unselfish thing would have been to cut him immediately. But I didn't want to cut Wade. I was falling in love with him too. Deep down, I didn't want to be alone and I do love him. I don't want to live without Wade. But I wish it could have been different. What would he think of me if he knew the whole truth? What if I stood up right now, in front of all these people and confessed everything and gave the decision to him--let him choose whether or not he still wanted me? That would be the right and honorable thing to do. What would happen then? Would he still marry me? Would he be disgusted, angry, say something cruel? What if he got up, walked back down that aisle and left me? What would everybody else think? What would they do? Of course, if it weren't for my children, I might do just that. But what would happen to them? After I brought disgrace on all of us? Would I be allowed to return to the Meades'? I just can't risk it. It wouldn't be fair to Edward and Christina. I must keep my secret carefully guarded. But at the same time, I do have to make it up to Wade--this deception. I must be loving and kind and hard working, not complaining or nagging and never give him a reason to regret marrying me. I need to be that much better of a wife to make up for my lies. And I will do it. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me._

Wade took her right hand in his to promise his troth...

Marybeth was still thinking feverishly: _I will get through this ceremony, then I will get through the ball. After that we will be alone..._Marybeth turned pale with apprehension at the thought...

"I join you together in marriage, in the name of the Father..."

The priest blessed the married couple. Wade looked down at Marybeth who smiled wanly back at him. He thought: _She's so beautiful; I'm the happiest man in the world. Why does she look so pale, although her eyes shine when she looks at me? Please, Lord, make me a good husband to her, let me be worthy of her._

"With this ring I wed you," said Wade, slipping the ring on Marybeth's finger, "and I pledge you my fidelity."

Mrs. Meade, sitting in the pew, dabbed her eyes as she thought: _Our little Marybeth is such a pretty bride. And she's come a long way since Dr. Meade brought her home two years ago. She's acquired culture and accomplishments. She would be a credit to any man. And see how they love each other. He can barely keep from looking at her and she looks like she'll swoon when she meets his eyes._

"...Your own institution, whereby You have provided for the propagation of mankind..."

Scarlett watched from her pew, listening to the words of a priest for the first time in more years than she could count. Not so for Wade--Marybeth went to church, and somehow she had not only Wade Hampton going regularly, but Ella also going every once in a while, even though she had never had Ella baptized. Gerald and Ellen, who would have seen to it, were dead by the time she arrived, and little things like baptism seemed unimportant. Bonnie and the little one she miscarried were never baptized either, and sometimes the thought disturbed Scarlett, who could only suppose they wandered around limbo now. But then she would put the thought away--something to think about "tomorrow".

Besides, Scarlett's mind was unable to pursue mystic abstractions, and quickly turned to more practical matters. _I hope the orchestra has arrived. They were supposed to be there before we left for the church. The food and beverages should last through the evening. I certainly ordered enough. I'm glad Wade and Marybeth finally saw reason and let me plan this party for them. I really wanted them to have a bigger wedding ceremony than this, but Marybeth was so adamant I finally gave in, but the reception was a must. I suppose she was correct about not making a big deal about the wedding, since it's not her first time doing this, and it would be a rather shocking breach of etiquette. But at least they'll have something lovely to remember about this day when they look back._

"May the God of Israel join you together: and may He be with you..."

_Rhett has been surprisingly well behaved these last several days. In fact, he's been downright engaging. I don't know what's gotten into him. I know he doesn't like Marybeth very much and he's been so opposed to this marriage. I know it and Marybeth knows it. But I admire Marybeth's spunk in standing up to him--I know they had words over it. And Rhett can be fearsome when angered... _

"Even thus ought husbands also love their wives as their own bodies..."

Beau, who was standing up as Wade's best man, thought: _Good for Cousin Wade. He looks truly happy and she's a fine girl, even if she's not in his class. She's really become quite a sweet girl, just like Ella and the other girls always maintained. She's lost that icy aloofness and is warm and friendly. I'm glad she'll be in our family._

"Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine in the recesses of your home..."

_But oh, Ella! That emerald green frock makes her complexion look even more delicate and translucent. She looks simply beautiful today. _Of course to Beau, she always looked beautiful. He knew that wasn't the consensus among their friends. She was described as bewitching, charming, elfin, and even cute. But Beau saw things in her that others didn't and to him she was beautiful. Aunt Scarlett insisted on throwing the bridal couple a party after the wedding, with music and dancing. And Beau knew what he could expect--Raoul and Albert looking daggers at each other as they jockeyed over who would dance with her. The air between the two young men was sure to be filled with tension, but Beau didn't care. He would get his share of dances with her even if it meant taking on both of them at the same time...

"May the Lord send you help from the sanctuary, from Sion may He sustain you..."

Dr. Meade stood by his wife and thought: _I never thought I would have the chance to give a bride away--having only had sons. Marybeth looks so fetching, but I hope I have some smelling salts on me, because she looks like she's about to faint. She can't be having second thoughts, can she? Wade Hampton is a fine young man and thank Heaven the Hamilton side of him has exerted itself over the O'Hara side. Gerald and Ellen were fine people, but Scarlett was a handful for so long. I've often thought the same about Ella Lorena. She's chock full of mischief, that one, but rather harmless. Again, the Kennedy in her seems to have overridden the O'Hara. _

"...Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for any cause? But He answered and said..."

Rhett thought: _I swear I don't know what he sees in her. There's something about her that doesn't sit right. She looks at him adoringly, but there's something else in her eyes, too. Nobody else seems to see it. I was so certain she was only after money, and I'm not sure I was completely wrong, but maybe it isn't only money that she wants. Maybe it's respectability and an old family name. Maybe she hoped to marry out of her class all along. I'm not sure if Elsie Wellburn would have been the worse choice after all. Except that she's a cold-hearted little flirt..._

_And then there's the fact that Marybeth's bringing two children with her into the marriage already. Just like Scarlett. Just like Scarlett... _

"Accept, we beseech You, O Lord, the gifts offered for the sacred bond of marriage..."

Rhett looked down at his wife standing by his side. He would have died before he admitted it to any other living soul, but she took his breath away when he saw her descending the stairs of the mansion to leave for the church. She was dressed modestly, as fitting for Church, in the deepest emerald silk that was certain to turn her tip-tilted eyes emerald as well. But even in her matronly garb, it was clear the years had been kind to her. She didn't look like a woman who was forty-one and about to see her oldest son married. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, probably over the prospect of throwing a large party--she so used to love throwing parties--and she gave him a smile of genuine joy, not the guarded smiles he was used to seeing on her face ever since he left her the night of Melanie's death, smiles that were wary and never completely hid the pain she felt. He was reminded of the young girl she had been before the War, the day of the barbecue at Twelve Oaks. And yet, she was even different from that girl--for that girl had had only one thought; ensnare Ashley. She had outgrown that childish fantasy. Scarlett was no longer a girl. Scarlett was a woman.

"...You made man in your image, and appointed woman to be his inseparable helpmate..."

_I hope she enjoys this party. She worked hard enough on it and it's her first one since before Bonnie died. Wade and Marybeth didn't ask for it, but he was too polite to refuse, and Marybeth ...well, who knows what she thought?_

"...Look, in Your mercy, upon this Your handmaid, about to be joined in wedlock..."

_Wade is fatuously happy with Marybeth. I guess when I stopped living with Scarlett, only returning to Atlanta often enough to keep gossip down, I lost some of my rights as a stepfather over Wade and Ella. I still believe it would have done Wade a world of good to have spent some time at Belle's before marrying Marybeth. It's bad business for a man to go into marriage with a woman who knows more about life than he does. But he wouldn't hear of it. He prattled on and on about fidelity and true love and in the end he refused to consider keeping company with any other woman, even if it were only for one night and he wasn't even married yet. God knows I love the boy as if he were my own flesh and blood, but sometimes he can be such a ninny. _

"...in Christ. Let her ever follow the model of holy women: let her be dear to her husband..."

Ella, Marybeth's maid of honor, thought: _Marybeth looks so pretty today. That style and color really suit her. I remember the first time I met her and she was so sedate looking in that dark dress. And her heart was in the grave. And now she's marrying my brother. I'm so glad to have her for a sister and not that nasty little Elsie. Of course, Elsie will be at the party later. We simply couldn't not invite her. But it will be good for her to see that there was one man she couldn't hold on to. _

"Let her be true to one wedlock and shun all sinful embraces..."

_The reception will be grand. Mother's planned something special. And this dress is quite fetching on me. I hope Raoul and Albert will like it. Cousin Beau looks handsome today. I wish he would find a sweet girl to court..." _

"...Let her be grave in demeanor, honorable for her modesty, learned..."

Ashley, in a pew by himself, a little apart and behind the others, thought: _The first wedding of this generation. Life has a way of pushing on despite the little heartbreaks and big tragedies we bring on ourselves. Melanie loved Wade so much--she would have been pleased to be here today. How I miss her--even the years haven't lessened the pain. My sweet, gentle Melanie who could never bear to cause anybody pain or see anybody hurt...she would have loved the romance of this day and been happy in Wade's happiness._

"...may He fulfill His blessing in you: that you may see your children's children..."

_Beau can barely keep his eyes off Ella. He thinks his feelings for her are a secret, and maybe they are to most other people, but I know. Ella never lacks for suitors--she's somewhat like her mother that way. But where Scarlett always knew the effect she had on men, Ella seems to be only partly aware. And, Ella would never keep a boy she didn't like dangling on a string--she would let him go kindly and right away she was aware of it. Maybe she inherited that from her father--a disinclination to hurt people. I'm certain she's not aware of Beau's feelings. She's too easygoing towards him to be aware of it. But it's nothing that any of us older people can do anything about. They must work out their own destinies. _

oOoOoOo

As they were leaving the church, Mrs. Meade broke away from Dr. Meade's arm, strode across the marble floor to Scarlett and brushed her lips against the younger woman's cheek. She was too happy about the good match Marybeth made with Wade to harbor any petty resentments against his mother.

"Isn't this a happy day, Scarlett?"

Scarlett returned the kiss, too startled not to. "Yes, Mrs. Meade. A very happy day."

Mrs. Meade looked over her shoulder at the Doctor, then turned again to Scarlett. Lowering her voice, she said, "We are both looking forward to your ball supper tonight. And what lovely weather you'll have for it."

Her expression was serious, but there was a twinkle in her eye as she looked at Scarlett that took her by surprise for a second time.

_Mrs. Meade doesn't disapprove of this party in Wade's and Marybeth's honor!_ Scarlett realized with surprise. _Not that it would have stopped me, but I was so sure she wouldn't approve. Well, well. Wonders never cease! _

oOoOoOo

There were several hours to fill between the wedding and the party, and Wade and Marybeth weren't sure what to do with themselves. They eluded the others and waved off Beau's and Ella's offer to accompany them.

"It's too early to check in to the Atlanta Hotel, our suite won't be ready yet," Wade mused. They planned to spend the first night there, then in the morning catch a train to Kentucky, where they would be spending their honeymoon on the plantation of one of Wade's college friends. "I suppose we should go visit Aunt Pitty, let her know about our marriage."

And so they did, and wound up spending most of that day in seclusion at Aunt Pitty's, with only Cousin India there besides. She planned to live with Pitty until the Hamiltons were back from their honeymoon. Then she would move back in with her brother to keep house for him.

"I wonder what the future holds in store for us?" Wade mused as they sat all alone on the back porch. India had discreetly withdrawn to the sickroom. Whatever the newly married couple wished to do was certainly none of _her_ business anymore.

"Oh, Wade," Marybeth breathed. "My head is in such a whirl I can barely think past this afternoon until your mother's party."

He leaned back in his chair, and clasped his hands behind his head. "Well, here's what I picture. You and I. Living in our own home...eventually. And someday all our little children around us."

"All of them?" She asked teasingly. "Do you want one dozen or two?"

Wade shouted with laughter. "We'll find out eventually, won't we? But back to our future--after all that, God willing, I picture us growing old together. What do you think?"

"Sounds lovely, although I have a hard time picturing us old, like the Meades. Or even as old as your parents. I just hope it all works out the way you say."

"_Hope?_ What are you talking about--hope? Listen here, woman! We can _make_ all that happen." He jumped up and grabbed her hands, pulling her out of her chair. "Look at the two of us! We're young, we're healthy, we have our whole lives ahead of us. The world is our oyster! With my growing practice and you by my side, there won't be anything that can lick us. And besides, you'll be as beautiful when you're eighty as you are today."

Marybeth grinned. His enthusiasm was infectious.

"Then let's do it, Wade. Let's make everything happen just the way you say."

"Now wait just a minute. Have you thought about what you want? I have no intention of being one of those domineering husbands with a timid, cowed wife."

Marybeth winked saucily. "Don't worry. I have no intention of being domineered. I want what you want. Success, happiness, and yes, a family of our own."

oOoOoOo

In later years, Marybeth was barely able to remember Scarlett's ball. In her mind, it was a blur of glittering lights, and loud music, and the press of people offering congratulations and kisses, and being led onto the dance floor, by Wade mostly, but there were others who came forward for the honor of a dance. One of these others was her new father-in-law, Rhett Butler.

Even at the age of nineteen, even despite everything she had gone through, she was an innocent when it came to the intrigues of the world. And so she was genuinely surprised when Rhett approached her and held him hand out to her for a dance.

"I really must congratulate you, Mrs. Hamilton," Rhett said conversationally as he put his arm around her waist.

"Why?" Marybeth asked warily as she adjusted her steps to his lead--an easy enough task, for Rhett was a smooth dancer.

"For two reasons. The first of which is you are quite the consummate little actress, aren't you? Nobody looking on at us dancing would ever imagine how much we dislike each other."

Marybeth tossed her head slightly. "Now that I'm married to Wade, I would never dream of giving people reason to speculate about him or me."

"That's the other reason you deserve congratulations. You won Wade after all. Despite your deficiencies of ancestry, without having any family to vouch for your past, you carefully positioned yourself in such a way as to catch his eye, then manipulated him to win his heart. Very sneaky. Congratulations. You now have him. And his fortune."

Angry, but aware they were being watched, lowered her eyes and smiled modestly. "I do, don't I? And nobody can take him away from me. Divorce is out of the question, of course, because we're Catholic. I suppose I've outdone you. And if I may be so bold, you are no gentleman, Captain Butler...no pardon me--Uncle Rhett. I _may_ call you that of course, now that I've _won_ Wade." Unable to resist taunting him further, she added, "Over your threats and objections."

He gripped her hand painfully. "You're only partly right. I'm no gentleman, and never will be. And so, if I ever learn that you've made my step-son's life miserable--or if you bring shame on his good name--I won't hesitate to take you down--even to your own ruin."

Marybeth kept her demure expression but hissed like a cat. "I will be a good wife to him. But not at your bidding. Wade will be happy, but _you_ don't get the credit for that."

oOoOoOo

Some time later, Rhett was standing by the punch bowl, watching the dancers, when Wade bounded up to him. He was flushed and happy, much to Rhett's disgust, although he didn't show it. Wade took the cup held out to him, and looked like he was about to cut a caper.

"I can't believe this day finally got here!" Wade grinned.

"She's a lovely girl, son."

Wade nodded. "Got any words of advice?"

"Actually, yes", he replied, watching Wade carefully from under hooded lids. "Justly or unjustly, beautiful women are often the targets of unwanted attention. Any treasure worth having is also worth guarding."

"I don't have to worry on that score. Marybeth is very modest and reserved around other men."

"Of course, son, of course. But just watch," Rhett said.

They turned to see Dr. Grant, one in a crowd who had gathered to give Marybeth their best wishes. Like the others, he bent down to kiss her on the cheek.

"There," Rhett said. "Do you see what I mean?"

"Everybody kisses the bride after a wedding--it's good luck. Besides, he knows her through working for Dr. Meade."

"No," Rhett replied impatiently. "Look at his face."

Wade peered more closely. There was something in the young doctor's expression he recognized instantly. It was faint, most observers probably wouldn't notice. But Dr. Grant's feelings towards Marybeth were more than brotherly. Wade was a little shocked. He hadn't thought Andrew Grant would be a rival for her attention.

Rhett watched the play of emotions on Wade's face, and put a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. "Obviously, Marybeth doesn't return his feelings," he said soothingly. "But all the same--you would be smart to keep her out of harms' way."

oOoOoOo

Ella was standing by the punch bowl, waiting for the servant to hand her a cup when she was approached by Frankie Bonnell. She greeted him courteously, but had no idea of talking to him further. However he had other plans.

"Fine, party, isn't it?" Frankie asked casually.

"Yes, indeed."

"Atlanta will be talking about this one for years. I already congratulated Wade."

"Oh, that's nice.'" And then, because he didn't seem to want to leave, she asked him, "And how have you been, Frankie?

"I?" He answered, all innocence. "Well. Very well. Virgie Simmons and I have been keeping company."

Of course, Ella knew. Everybody knew. But she nodded politely. "How nice for you. Virgie's a sweet girl."

"She is, that. Sweet, and talented and beautiful. Such a combination is hard to find, I assure you. But she's also innocent and unaffected. She would never court one man and string another along at the same time. She's not that kind of girl. So naturally, we're very happy together."

Ella bristled slightly. She knew that was a direct jab at her, and the way she saw him and Albert at the same time. But she was her mother's daughter, and refused to rise to the bait. "How nice for you. Now, if you don't mind, I must rejoin my friends..."

"No, wait, Ella. Don't go. Not yet. It was rude of me to say that. But I am concerned for you."

"That's very kind, but I have no need of your concern," and she tried to pass by him, but he put a hand gently on her arm and leaned in.

"You're wrong. You have to hear this. When was the last time you saw Albert?"

"Oh, about an hour ago. Then he went with his friends and I had some things to talk over with Marybeth--Mrs. Hamilton..."

"Well, I just saw him and he's madder than a hornet. Ella, what's been between you and Raoul Picard? Because there's been some gossip."

With all her might, Ella tried to stay calm. Gossip was nothing. In her crowd, gossip was everywhere. "Is that right?" She answered as if she hadn't a care in the world.

"Yes," Frankie, answered. "And I can see Albert coming now." He turned to Ella, his face concerned, but he still seemed to be relishing this. "Would you like me to stay with you? I'm not sure I'd want to face him alone, if I were you."

oOoOoOo

Rhett Butler walked slowly through one of the ballroom doors that led towards the back of the house, to the back stairs. These were the servant's stairs, the ones that led to their quarters, and the kitchen, and were used solely by the servants so they could do their work unobtrusively as they served their employers. He descended the stairs slowly, relieved for a chance to be alone to think.

So he had his revenge, back there in the ballroom. Nothing surprising there, Rhett always got his revenge--he was a fighter his whole life. In his youth he rebelled against a set of rules that made no sense to him. He lived on the most intimate terms with the lowest strata of society and learned their tricks for survival. He worked for the Confederacy when it suited him, then worked hand in glove with the Yankees to his own advantage. In his personal life, he'd fought the long, protracted battle to win Scarlett's love.

And then he'd punished Scarlett's cold-heartedness with abandonment and a relentless glacial, coldness of his own. But for that matter, after holding the upper hand over her all these years, in the past months she was inexorably slipping away from him. He was very aware that his aloofness these past years bound her to him more tightly than anything else could have, and he took a shameful (or was it shameless?) enjoyment in it. After all, that's what he always wanted--for Scarlett to love him. But it wasn't working anymore. What's more, it was no longer satisfying.

He felt a sense of shame, moreover, at what he'd done to Wade. He knew it was truly beneath him to take on an adversary as puny as Marybeth, no matter how much she taunted him, and the thought was galling. Not because he felt remorse towards her, but because he felt it belittled him. Not to mention, it failed to have the desired effect. He hadn't driven a wedge between Wade and Marybeth, but he'd planted the seeds of doubt in Wade's mind. Although he trusted Marybeth utterly, there would always be some enmity between him and Dr. Grant from this day on. So. His stepson was married, and his daughter-in-law hated him.

His own mortality, the consciousness of which pressed on him at all times, was particularly weighty this festive evening. Wade--who he'd known from a baby--who he'd helped raise, was now a grown man, with a wife of his own and opinions of his own. Ella would be married soon. Who to was anybody's guess, at this point. But it didn't matter. Although she wasn't as popular as Scarlett had been, she was no wallflower, either.

And then what? At age fifty-eight, besides his money, (which was no inconsiderable amount), he didn't have much to show for his life of fighting. He prided himself on not being gullible, but on being alert and cunning, able to cut right through the lies and polite evasions of his society, able to wrest what he wanted from the world by main force, and yet... he had been brought to this pass by the machinations of women. Oh, he had been loved--by his mother and Rosemary, Ella and Melanie. They loved him and they civilized him. It was only for their sakes that he returned to Scarlett time after time. And he had been desired-- by Belle and sometimes by Scarlett. Amazing how alike they were--smart women who were forced by circumstances to make their own ways in the world. But what was a mean streak in Scarlett was merely a streak of cunning in Belle. But Belle was no angel, either. She could manipulate circumstances to make things happen the way she wanted. In all the years he'd known her, he always needed to stay a couple steps ahead of her or he might have wound up marrying her, whore or not. He lumped Marybeth into their category--Belle's and Scarlett's. Her hooks were firmly sunk into Wade. Marybeth _Hamilton_. Indeed.

Bonnie--as a woman? No. Bonnie was a case apart.

Women! May the devil take the whole tribe of them, he thought savagely. He wished he could live without them altogether. Except for one woman--Scarlett. _It always comes back to Scarlett_. She could not civilize him because she was barely civilized herself, under that Great Lady exterior. _Even when I'm thinking about other women, it is always in their relationship to her. Scarlett, Scarlett. Always Scarlett. I leave her, she haunts me. I come back, and I can scarcely endure to live in the same house as her. Is it worth the fight? Do I even have the strength to fight anymore?_

As if he conjured her by some arcane magician's trick, Scarlett was heading towards him down the hall--no, not towards him, towards the kitchen. She was carrying a nearly empty pitcher in one hand and balancing a little tray piled high with linen napkins. She was flushed and tired, but clearly happy.

"You're as pretty as a picture," he said as he stepped out of the shadow at the bottom of the staircase.

Startled, she gasped and staggered, nearly upsetting the tray. He clamped his cigar in his teeth, took the tray from her and put it on a sideboard. Then he took the pitcher from her, as she gaped at this evidence of chivalry. He set the pitcher down on the sideboard too, and that brought an immediate reaction.

"Oh, it will leave a ring..."

"You little hypocrite, forever thinking about how things look," he said, but he grinned to soften his words. She was reaching past him to pick up the pitcher. "You've been working really hard lately."

"I don't have time for anything else," she answered curtly as she picked up the pitcher and rubbed the varnish underneath with one of the discarded napkins, hoping to thwart the dreaded ring from forming.

"You need a vacation. Run away with me, Scarlett."

She stopped in her tracks, stared at him hard, and then, forgetting the pitcher and the damage it was about to inflict on the varnish, pulled him down the hallway, away from the hearing of the servants.

"This is no time for your silly jokes."

Rhett put his hand over his heart, as if he were grievously offended. "Scarlett, this is no joke."

"What--of course it is! You left me nearly thirteen years ago, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten."

She looked at him as if she thought he was insane. "And so you just waltz in and want me to forgive that?"

"I did nothing to be forgiven for, taking into account your affair with Ashley."

Somehow, Scarlett forgot she had placed all the blame on herself, anyway. "You haven't lost an ounce of your cheek, have you?"

"Would you have loved me all these years if I had?"

"No, I suppose I wouldn't have..." She stopped abruptly and blushed at being trapped into admitting her love for him. Just as she forgot her self-blame, she had forgotten her declaration of love for him the night Melanie died

"But you do love me, Scarlett, don't you? Of course, I'm not sure why I'm asking you when I can see it in your eyes. You never stopped loving me."

Scarlett stood there, part of her feeling humiliated and naked at the casual way he was discussing her tenderest emotions. But on the other hand, this was Rhett, who knew her better than anybody, even better than she knew herself. She could live through this humiliation--and there were no witnesses to it--but she didn't know what he was doing here, or why he was talking to her like this, either. She decided her best strategy was transparent honesty. Straightening her shoulders, she looked him directly in the eye. "You're right, Rhett, I never stopped loving you. And I never stopped wanting you to come back to me. But," she said pointedly, "I gave up all hope of that happening"

"You gave up a bit prematurely, I should say. Because I want you, Scarlett. I want to live with you."

Scarlett's palms were getting clammy. For so long she wanted to hear words like this from him. But she noticed that he hadn't said_ love_. "I must say, I'm confounded by this abrupt turnaround. Up until now, you did an excellent job of showing me your ongoing contempt."

"Do you mean all the times I came to Atlanta to keep gossip down?"

"Yes. Not that it actually kept gossip down, but yes."

"All the times I came to Atlanta?"

"Yes. All the times you came to Atlanta."

"Atlanta?"

_What was he trying to say?_ "Yes, Atlanta, Atlanta. What is that, some sort of magical word? Like abracadabra? Atlanta!"

He stood back and folded his arms. "Then there you have it."

Scarlett heard a crash from the kitchen, Prissy's voice babbling excuses and Dilcey's voice scolding

"_What _do I have?" She asked in desperation. Her brow was wrinkled in consternation. "Oh, never mind. I don't have time for riddles, and I don't have time for your jokes. Can we talk about this later?" And she turned to go.

With a hand on her shoulder, he whirled her around to face him. "You honestly don't understand? No, of course you wouldn't. You don't understand anything that isn't spelled out plainly. Think Scarlett! What was the one time we were completely happy? Not the thin, superficial fun that passes for happiness in this day and age, but the type of happiness you feel deep in your bones. Because we were happy once, Scarlett. Remember?"

He hadn't moved his hand from her shoulder and her pulse was speeding up. "Oh...I don't know--our honeymoon?"

"Exactly. That was the only time we were away from Atlanta and the old cats and the clacking tongues and all the in-laws. We had our money and we had each other. Maybe that's where we went wrong. Maybe rather than settling in Atlanta, where both our reputations were thoroughly spotted, we should have lived free as the wind, going where our inclinations led us. Nothing to tie us down--but off to the next city, the next country, the next adventure--at our own whim."

Scarlett stared at him, drawn to him--his face looked years younger as he fanaticized a gypsy lifestyle for them. She felt a stirring deep inside her...but she had no time for fantasies. She had a party to run. "That wouldn't have been practical. We couldn't have possibly done that with little Wade and Ella in tow."

He shook his head. "They would have loved it. Besides, we had servants to look after them."

Scarlett took a deep breath. "You haven't forgotten the terrible thing I said after Bonnie's death?" She said, sure she was delivering the death knell to his burgeoning feelings, but unable to leave it unsaid.

He looked straight into her eyes. "That was so long ago."

"I accused you of murdering her by teaching her how to jump," Scarlett was relentless. "I accused _you_--who loved Bonnie more than anything in the whole world."

She was sure she'd see hate in his eyes as she cast up the past to him. But he looked at her without flinching and without change of expression. "It was cruel of you, Scarlett, and no, I haven't forgotten."

His unflinching stance gave her courage. If he could look at that episode in all sober honesty, she would not shrink from what she wanted to say next. She wrung her hands, and her brow puckered. "From the bottom of my heart, Rhett I wish I had left those words unsaid. I won't even give you the excuse that I spoke out of grief. It _was_ cruel--furthermore, it was on purpose--and I'm abjectly sorry."

"I believe you and I forgive you. I don't want it to stand in our way."

"You say _our way_ as if you really do expect me to run away with you..."

"Why not? You haven't done anything to set tongues wagging lately. You're overdue for a scandal." He was in his teasing mood now, and Scarlett couldn't resist smiling back wanly. He was always unpredictable, but this topped everything. His hand was caressing her shoulder gently, and she was starting to get dizzy. She wanted to run away so she could think. Things were moving a little too fast for her.

"No, no. This is completely unbelievable. How can you have a change of heart after thirteen years?"

"As I recall, you chased Ashley Wilkes for the first twelve years I knew you, then abruptly changed your mind."

"That was different. It took the tragedy of Melanie's death to make me realize how I felt about you."

"Well then, if you can make such an abrupt change because of a sorrow, then why can't it take a happy occasion for me to make an equally momentous change?"

"Well for one thing, because you're not happy about this marriage."

"Point taken. I'm not happy to see Wade throw himself away. But it has made me think. Hence I want you to run away with me."

"That makes no sense at all..." The unreality of this meeting made Scarlett wonder if her mind weren't playing tricks on her. All the years she played the Great Lady for his benefit, and he was scarcely civil to her. Now, without any wrangling on her part, he was offering her a life together with him. Albeit, a strange, unconventional life, but he was still offering himself. Her head swam. Furthermore, strangely, now that the moment she'd dreamed of was here, she quailed a bit. Her pursuit of him had been such a part of her life for so many years, she was really at a loss what to do now that she had him. But wait--she didn't quite have him. Not yet. Steeling herself, she strove to keep her mind's eye on the ultimate victory.

Rhett was still speaking. "Let's talk about this Scarlett--not here, not with the servants around. Let's find some place we can be alone..."

"I can't right now. I have guests."

"After your guests are gone, then. Depend upon it, I _will _talk to you, Scarlett. And I will get an answer."

oOoOoOo

Laughing, and with mischief in his eyes, Wade drew Marybeth away from the ballroom. Taking her by the hand, he led her speedily down the back stairs--the servants' stairs--looking to see if they were observed, then he pulled her into the library and locked the door. When he was assured they were alone, he drew the curtains, turned up the gaslights and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her mouth and caressed her boldly, which made her gasp and cling to him. He lifted her up and buried his face in her neck.

"You are so tempting and we're here all alone," he muttered and she giggled nervously. But then he gave her a smacking kiss on the mouth and plunked her back down on the floor. He took her hands and grinned down at her. "But not here, not with a house full of people roaming about. I suppose I can wait until we're at the Hotel Atlanta...If only all those guests would leave, already. But I'm sure we can slip out early."

Marybeth was too overwhelmed to answer. She merely nodded.

Then he laughed joyfully. "You've made me the happiest man on Earth! We're going to be so happy together--you'll see."

oOoOoOo

At that moment, Ella was in the dining room facing down an irate Albert Whiting.

"What do I have to do to make sure you're faithful to me? What do I have to say?" He asked furiously.

"You've been listening to gossip," she raised her hands in a placating gesture as she tried to be calm.

"You seem to inspire a lot of it."

Ella laughed carelessly. "This is all a tempest in a teapot. Do you want to know the truth? Fine. I did receive other callers while you were at University."

"Again? Didn't we go through all this last year? What is wrong with you?"

"Me? Me?" She spluttered and her eyes grew large as she considered the unfairness of his implication. "Me? But it's all _you! _You're the one who can never tell me what you're thinking about. I have no idea what's happening in your mind or your heart. First you get jealous like a lover, then when everybody else is out of the way, you start treating me like a sister again. I can't live like that."

"And I can't court an unfaithful woman. I'm tired of this. We're through."

oOoOoOo

Dr. Grant declined the Meades' offer of a ride home and instead wended his way slowly to his boarding house in the sultry night, deep in thought and wallowing in self-disgust as he puffed on his pipe. He wasn't sure which was worse--that he was an idiot, or that he never even recognized his own idiocy. He had needed to see her at Wade's side before he could convince himself that the marriage was an irrevocable fact. He shook his head at his own foolishness in the matter. What had he thought? That somehow Marybeth's engagement would never come to fruition? And then what? That she would grieve for a while, then he, Andrew, would be there to console her? And then she would fall into his arms...

He laughed harshly into the night. This was real life--not one of those romantic penny dreadfuls some foolish girls were so fond of. Marybeth was married. She was the wife of another man. Andrew was no choirboy, but neither had he ever touched or even cast longing eyes on the wife of another man. And he decided that he was not going to start now.

His pipe went out and he stopped to relight it. Penelope Stour from prayer meeting had been giving him the friendly eye for the last two months, but he never encouraged her while he still had some hope of Marybeth, no matter how remote...

This Wednesday, if Penny were at prayer meeting, and she were so kind as to look upon him in friendly-wise...he wouldn't be so foolish as to turn her away...

oOoOoOo

In the bridal suite at the Atlanta Hotel Marybeth stood in her nightdress, staring at herself in the mirror. The nightdress was quite pretty, with ruffles around the wide, scooped neckline and at the wrists. With her hair down her back, she looked so natural it seemed wanton, and she blushed before she turned away from her own image.

Wade was in his dressing room, doing Heaven-only-knew-what, and Marybeth's anxiety was mounting as she waited for him. She was too nervous to climb into the bed, so she stood, clutching the bedpost, trying to calm her whirling thoughts.

Nobody, not even Mrs. Meade, had thought to talk to her about what was to happen on her wedding night. And why should they? After all, in the eyes of all her women friends, she was a widow and therefore should know what was going to happen, so there was nothing to discuss. She thought bitterly of the fathers of her children. They had only used her and caused her pain. She had listened to the obstetric discussions the older women were fond of having, desperately hoping for information or nuggets of advice, but they only discussed the "after" of pregnancy--never the "before". What would Wade expect of her, she wondered feverishly. What was she supposed to _do_?

She heard the door to the dressing room open, and she turned to Wade with one hand still clutching the bedpost and trying not to faint.

He entered the bedroom and was surprised to find Marybeth standing next to the bed. He approached her with a little puzzled smile on his face. "Is everything all right?" He asked, taking her hand. Marybeth nodded and he pulled her into his arms. He was shocked at how rigid her body felt against his, and he held her away from him to look into her face. It was difficult to see her expression in the moonlight, but she looked like she was trying to be brave. He picked up her hand and kissed it, feeling its trembling. He was a little taken aback; after all, it wasn't as if she didn't know what happened between men and women. But obviously, something was bothering her. Still holding her by the hand, he led her over to an armchair that was in a corner of the room. He sat down and pulled her into his lap, with his arms loosely around her. She put her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, hardly daring to breathe. It was her first night as a wife and she was failing miserably. At least, she thought she was--she really didn't know for sure, and that thought brought a lump to her throat.

Wade stroked her back gently, at a loss what to do. She hadn't fought him, she had come to him without hesitation, but she was clearly frightened of something. She would do whatever he wanted, but that wasn't good enough. He wanted her desire.

"What is it you want, Marybeth?" He asked quietly.

"Just your love," she whispered back.

"You never have to ask." He stroked her back and her hair and he could feel the tension in her body. Maybe if he distracted her...

"You know, this morning at our wedding...?"

"Hmm...?"

"When I first saw you in the church in that pink dress..."

"Silvery-pink."

He smiled a little, but wasn't going to be distracted. "I was minded of a poem:

When as in silks my Julia goes,

Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flows

The liquefaction of her clothes. Robert Herrick wrote it."

She smiled, too. "How strange you would think of that."

"No, it's not. You looked lovely. Just like a poem. You still look lovely."

She sighed happily. She liked when he told her sweet nothings. He noticed the tension was starting to ease in her body. Of course, as lightly dressed as they both were, he was noticing a lot of things. He shifted uncomfortably.

"You know, we have an early train tomorrow," he murmured.

Marybeth sat up and looked at him then. Wade took her hands. "I think it's time we go to sleep." She didn't look enthusiastic, but at least she had lost that frightened look. He kissed her lightly and put her on her feet. Then he heaved himself out of the chair and took her hand again. She climbed into bed first, and he lay down carefully next to her, his only contact with her being the hand he took up again. As they lay side by side, Marybeth stayed awake, thinking. _He hasn't forced me, he hasn't used me, he actually wants to please me--he wants me to be happy_. She thought about these things for quite awhile. The warmth of his hand was pleasant to her, after all. She decided that she liked not being alone at night. Maybe there wasn't anything to be afraid of after all. Maybe things would be different with Wade.

She rolled towards him and he opened his eyes at her movement. She was inching closer to him, he could feel her thigh touching his and he blinked. He had no intention of forcing his marital rights, but at the same time, he wasn't made out of stone. He sincerely hoped she wasn't intending to tease him. He propped himself up on his elbow.

She took his hand and held it over her heart. "I want to be your wife, Wade. In every sense of the word."

"Are you sure?" He whispered, hoping. If only he didn't have to wait any longer...

"Absolutely sure," she murmured as she brought her mouth up to meet his...

oOoOoOo

Beau Wilkes was one of the last party guests left. No, make that the last of the sober party guests. The whiskey and champagne he drank earlier had entirely worn off, and he picked his way across the littered ballroom, past the orchestra that continued to play as long as anybody wanted to dance (the Butlers were rich--they could afford it), around some weary, drunken couples in various stages of dalliance and ran down the stairs. Here and there were some guests left, some few final stragglers who would either find a spare, unlocked bedroom to sleep off this night, or would find their way home by hook or by crook. Or if not home, some inviting stretch of lawn. He ignored the drunks and made his way through the parlor and out onto the terrace. He looked around and saw nobody, but when his shoes rang out on the flagstones, he saw a couple who had been lingering in the shadows step away from the light quickly and dart around the corner for more privacy. Beau sighed, then wandered the grounds of the mansion, not sure what to do with himself. Wade and Marybeth were at the hotel by now. Father went home hours ago. He had no idea where Aunt Scarlett was, but she had disappeared some time ago.

He stepped down onto the lawn and strode between the azaleas in bloom towards the back paddock. Beau wanted to wish Ella one last good night, but come to think of it, he hadn't seen her in a really long time, either. He'd made up his mind that she was already in bed and was about to turn towards home, when he heard crying.

And there she was, crumpled under the iron stag.

"Ella, are you hurt?" He crouched down next to her, frightened.

"Oh, Cousin Beau," she sniffed, then dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "Hurt? Not at all. Nobody has misused me, if that's what you mean."

In spite of himself, Beau blushed at her forthrightness.

"Then why...?"

She wailed louder and he looked around desperately. He couldn't be seen bringing her into the house crying, tongues would surely wag. Also, some of the drunken guests were single men who might be tempted to try her door once she was inside. He didn't want to put any ideas in their heads. On the other hand, he couldn't stay out here with her all night, either. Then he saw the carriage house. He could take her there until she had her cry. Then he would have to get her safely to her room afterward. There was no help for it.

"Come on, Ella," he said as he put a hand firmly under her elbow. He had to practically lift her off the ground and to her feet. She was still sobbing hysterically. "You can't stay out here all night, what will people think?"

She made an effort to compose herself and Beau knew he'd have to be satisfied with that. Looking around to make sure they weren't observed, he led her to the carriage house. Just to make sure there was no chance of people misunderstanding, he kept the large door wide open. Then he climbed up onto one of the carriages and pulled her up beside him to sit.

"I always mess it up," Ella sniffed. "Albert's left me because I was receiving Raoul."

Beau sighed. "Do you love Albert that much?"

"Well...I..."

"And what about Raoul?"

"Oh, that was just a flirtation. Just a stupid flirtation. Albert's not a very attentive beau, Beau. Sometimes I wonder if he cares about me at all. But then if I look at any other man, he's furious."

_Maybe the problem is she isn't really in love with Albert at all_, thought Beau. _Maybe he's sort of a habit she fell into a couple years ago and doesn't know she wants to give it up. I think that's the situation. In fact, I know that's the situation. If she could only be made to see her feelings for Albert for what they really are, maybe there would be a chance for me. _He casually took her hand in both of his, and rested it on his knees.

"Ella," he started. "Have you considered..."

"Ella? Ella?" They heard a voice calling, and they both looked towards the door. Albert was standing on the threshold, looking uncertain. "I thought I heard you in here. Oh, hello, Beau."

Albert obviously wasn't worried to see Ella alone with Beau, and Beau bristled at this casual dismissal of himself.

"Ella," Albert asked. "Might I have a word with you? Alone?"

Ella turned to Beau, and her eyes were dark in the moonlight. "D'you mind? I really should go talk to him."

Beau didn't think so at all, but he climbed down from the wagon and swung Ella down. She joined Albert and they walked out of the carriage house together. But Beau didn't follow them. He went out the door opposite and walked home.

oOoOoOo

Scarlett Butler turned her head and looked out the window where she could see the tops of the trees. There wasn't going to be any sleep for her tonight--she _would_ not. She felt, deep in her bones, that the only chance for her now, the only chance for her sanity and self-respect lay in keeping her wits about her. Because that was the only way she could put her plan into motion.

There was peace in her heart now, but it was only in the form of a reprieve. Right now she could lay here in her own bed and contemplate the trees in drowsy sentimentality, but at the earliest possible moment she would have to get up and leave the house, leave Atlanta, flee to Tara. She'd barely been to Tara in the last several years, at least not enough to suit her, but from now on, she vowed, she would live at Tara and not waste her life in Atlanta waiting for a man who dangled her on a string. Even if he was the man she loved.

_But be fair_, she thought to herself, _he didn't dangle you at all. He insisted over and over he didn't want you and you refused to listen, just like you always refused to listen to things you didn't like to hear, by putting them off until tomorrow._

Scarlett was almost appalled at how her plan had formed itself so completely and flawlessly in her mind, as if some power outside herself had a hand in it. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she would get out of bed, throw on a dress, any old dress, make Pork hitch the carriage and have him take her to the train station. Of course, Prissy and Ella would have to follow her, but she would leave the message for them with Pork.

As for the mansion, she didn't care what happened to it. She could leave it to Wade Hampton and that little bride of his. They would need it someday. Marybeth came into the marriage with two children already and she was just the type to have dozens more. They were planning to live with Aunt Pittypat, but that situation wouldn't work forever.

She heard a sigh and turned her eyes from the window to the head of the man sleeping with his head on her chest and his arms wound tightly around her. She kissed his hair. It was all gray now. But then, beside Frank, Rhett was the oldest beau she'd ever had. Right now she luxuriated in his touch, his pleasant weight upon her and the memory of the night they had just spent. Scarlett had won. After all these years, she had won. Furthermore, he was quite sober when he claimed her, so her victory was doubly sweet. But she had won at such a price! Years of her life gone, taking with them her youth and enormous amounts of her own pride.

She was waiting for him to let her go, to loosen his arms and she would slip away, before he could wake up and say anything to break the spell. She might have won, but she was still thoroughly under his power and she knew how weakened she was from the years of struggle. She could never face him in the morning--she was too afraid he would say something nasty, something that would leave more scars that would never heal. Therefore, she would leave. He could follow her or not. Her destination was to be no secret. But whatever he chose to do, she would always know that their last encounter had ended in her victory.

FIN


End file.
